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AM) AT ALL i':iK RAILWAY 0TA'X; ■<-'•■ 

=S(\v u JOCW 

Wee Tied SHiUling*. 









Music to the ear of authorship is the call for " a new 
edition." The puhlic voice, that '•' deep and dreadful 
organ-pipe," has its silver tones; and this is one of the 
most silvery. For the demand in the present instance, 
the author is probably not a little indebted to the origi- 
nals of his green men, who have so obligingly exerted 
themselves of late to realise his romance, and convince 
the world that they are quite as verdant as they were 
painted. It now appears that he understood Young 
Ireland earlier than Old Ireland did. " It is a wise 
father," to reverse the proverb, " that knows his own 
son." However, as Old Ireland is at length satisfied 
that the Tigernachs and Verdaunts were naughty boys 
from the beginning, who not only spoke pikes but pro- 
posed to use them, the triumphant representative of the 
elder party will now perhaps readily acknowledge, that 
what he rashly stigmatised as a " malignant libel on the 
people of Ireland," deserved to be described in very 
different terms. Fortunately for our Celtic youth, these 
are not the days when men are hanged for nonsense, 


either in prose or rhyme ; but there are minor penalties, 
known to the law, from which it is pleasing to think they 
have been saved, by a vigorous though tardy correction 
with the Liberator's moral shillelagh. 

" Improbus ille puer, crudelis tu quoque pater" 

The cruelty consisted in suffering the lad to play his 
mischievous pranks so long. A tap of the cudgel long 
ago would have been equally effective, and far more 

As to the fate of the beaten party, it would be hazardous 
to predict it, while such numerous paths are open to 
active absurdity and enterprising indiscretion. But it is 
to be hoped that there will be some Celtic Cincinnatus, at 
least, amongst them, who will retire from the Dictatorship 
of the Nation to some model farm in Tipperary or Lime- 
rick, there, waiting for greener days, to cultivate saffron, 
and plough by the tail. 





" Most of the hawks and owls are averse to the trouble of con- 
structing nests for themselves. Thus the brown falcons take pos- 
session of the old nests of magpies or squirrels, to which, so far as 
we can learn, they never add any fresh materials, nor take any pains 
to repair damages or render them tidy." 

Rennie on Bird-Architecture. 


Towards the middle of the month of May, not three 
years since, a lively sensation was produced in a circle of 
respectable families mostly resident in Marylebone, by 
the sudden arrival in town of a family of the high-flying 
name of Falcon. 

The sensation, upon the whole, was decidedly alarming. 
The Puddicomes, of "Wimpole-street quaked ; the Jenkin- 
sons, of Portland-place, were fluttered ; a family of Duck- 
worths retreated to Norwood; and the Bompases, of 


Bryanstone-square, were divided between burning their 
house and starting upon a continental tour. 

Yet it was neither upon the Puddicomes, the Bompases, 
the Duckworths, or the Jenkinsons, that the Falcons first 
stooped. The house of a Mr. Freeman, in Harley-street, 
was the primary object of attack, and the Freemans had 
no ground for complaining of want of notice, as the fol- 
lowing letter, received a few days before by Mrs. Free- 
man, from Mrs. Falcon, will satisfactorily show : 

" Broomfield, Stony-Stratford, May 25. 
" Mx deab Mes. Freeman, 
" We are all charmed to hear you are going to Ply- 
mouth next week ; the country will do you and dear Mr. 
Freeman so much good. I hope and trust he will benefit 
by the change of air and the salt water. Lady Charlotte 
Nostrum makes it a ride to go to Plymouth for three 
months after every course of the London doctors, and it 
infallibly sets her up, and enables her to go through it all 
over again the next season. Just think of our misery, 
obliged to go to town just when other people are thinking 
of leaving it, and when town is beginning to be down- 
right odious. The Sympletones will never forgive us for 
running away from them so soon, but Mr. Falcon has 
business in London which requires his immediate pre- 
sence, so we must submit to our hard fate. The Shycocks 
are looking out for a small house for us somewhere near 
St. John's "Wood, or the Bayswater-road ; but if you 
should hear of anything (quite perfect) that would suit 
us elsewhere — in the cottage-style, you know, with just 
one coach-house, or without one (we have no horses just 

OB, YOtfff G IEELAjm. 

now) — pray do let us know before you leave town. I am 
perfectly ashamed to put you to this trouble, dear Mrs. 
[Freeman, but you are always goodness itself to us, and I 
know you will excuse, 

" Tours, with a thousand loves, 


" P.S. How are your dear sweet girls ? — should we not 
succeed in getting a house, would it be too unreasonable 
to beg of you, if perfectly convenient, to allow Mr. Falcon 
and me {nobody else), to sleep a night or two in Harley- 
street, until we suit ourselves ? Any hole or corner 
would answer us. But if it would put you to the slightest 
trouble it would make us all perfectly wretched. Eemem- 
ber to inquire at Plymouth for Dr. Pinch : he performs 
miracles by just throwing a grain of some wonderful 
powder into the sea, just before his patients bathe ; he 
calls it pathetic mesmerism, or something like that. 

" To Mrs. Freeman, Harley-street, London." 

The lady to whom this familiar and elegant epistle was 
addressed, was not at all deficient in simplicity; but, 
nevertheless, she comprehended its drift the instant she 
read it. She knew that Mrs. Falcon had no more inten- 
tion of taking a house in town than Queen Pomare had, 
and understood the request in the postscript as a distinct 
announcement, on the part of the Falcon family, of their 
resolution to quarter themselves in Harley-street, rent- 
free, for the summer months. 

"I suppose we must submit, my dear?" said Mrs. 
Freeman to her husband, looking, as she spoke, the very 
picture of abused good-nature. 



" I suppose so," said Mr. Freeman, with the half 
peevish, half indifferent air of a poco-curante invalid. 
" I'll certainly try Dr. Pinch." 

" But it is provoking, just now, when everything is laid 
up ; the carpets off, the curtains down ; no servants — no 

" So much the better," said Mr. Freeman. 

" As there will be only Mr. and Mrs. Falcon, I suppose 
I need not lock up the bronzes and alabasters ?" said the 

"No necessity," said the gentleman. "I wish I had 
heard of Dr. Pinch before." 

" They must be very poor, my dear," resumed Mrs. 
Freeman, beginning to think more of the inconveniences 
the Falcons would be subjected to, than of those to which 
their visitation would occasion herself. 

Mr. Freeman shook his head, took an infinitesimal pill, 
medicine enough for an infinitesimal disorder -, and made 
no answer but an infinitesimal grunt. 

" Have they anything at all, my dear ?" 

" Falcon has generally some little agency, or temporary 

" To be sure," said Mrs. Freeman, "they must live for 
almost nothing." 

Mr. Freeman took a second homoeopathic pill, gave a 
second homoeopathic grunt, and said, " They save house- 
rent, servants' wages, poor's -rates, assessed taxes. People 
always do by living in other people's houses. But it was 
thoughtful of Mrs. Falcon to mention Dr. Pinch.*' 

At this point of the conjugal dialogue Mrs. Freeman's 
brother, Dick Chatworth, a spruce, chirping, middle-aged 


bachelor, smartly dressed, with a profusion of jewellery, 
dropped in, and laughed heartily when he heard of the 
threatened invasion of the Falcons. 

" Tou know the Falcons, Dick ?" said his sister. 

" Know them ! to be sure I do — by reputation. Every- 
body knows them, and most people to their cost ; they 
call Falcon the ' Red Hover,' and the lady goes by the 
name of 'The Gipsy.' " 

" She's a brunette," said Mr. Freeman. 

" She has all the gipsy peculiarities : the brown com- 
plexion, the vagrant habits, and the loose morality : she's 
Egyptian all over ; a handsome strolling beggar ; and she 
speaks such delicious French ! But have you answered 
her letter, Elizabeth ? — take care what you do !" 

" Why, we can't refuse, Dick, they are such friends of 
the Bompases." 

" Friends of the Bompases ! — the Bompases have the 
greatest horror of them. All I say is, take care Mrs. 
Falcon is not in a certain interesting situation!" 

" Good Heaven ! is it possible she wants to be con- 
fined here?" 

" She managed to be confined at the Rev. Dr. Hobart's, 
in Dover-street, a few years ago, to my own knowledge ; 
so look sharp, Elizabeth — take a friend's advice." 

" I should have to pay for the straw," said Mr. Freeman. 

" Poor Hobart paid the doctor, and 'faith, I believe, he 
also paid for the cradle. Besides, he was forced to stay 
at the ' Blenheim,' in Bond-street, for two months — I 
used to dine with him there." 

"Well — if ever!" exclaimed Mrs. Freeman, with up- 
lifted hands. 


" How did Hobart stand it ?" inquired Mr. Freeman, 

" Wonderfully. At the same time he did not quite like 
it — a bachelor and a clergyman, you know — people made 
remarks when they saw the outward and visible signs of 
an accouchement at his house ; but what he thought worst 
of was being obliged to stand godfather to the gipsy's 
brat, and present the nurse with a guinea. To be sure, 
Mrs. Falcon was very grateful : the child was christened 

People like the Hobarts and Freemans are as necessary 
to people like the Falcons as argosies are to corsairs, or 
caravans to Arabian banditti. Tour easy, good-natured 
people are the correlatives of spunges and land-pirates. 
Good temper, generosity, and facility of disposition, are 
frequently expensive accomplishments ; and no man ought 
to start in life with them, any more than to set up his 
coach, without a careful examination of the state of his 

31 rs. Freeman could not bring herself to disoblige 
friends of the Bompase-s ; — however, she made inquiries 
about Mrs. Falcon's times and seasons of gestation, and 
the result being satisfactory, she returned her a com- 
plaisant answer, to the effect that a room or two in 
Harley-street would be at her service for a fortnight; 
but she regretted that she could not offer such poor 
accommodation for a longer time, as there were repairs to 
be done, and carpenters and painters to be employed 
during the summer. Mrs. Freeman, too, had her post- 
script ; but it was merely to recommend to Mrs. Falcon's 
particular care a valuable and beautiful alabaster Diana in 
one of the drawing-rooms. The next day the Freemans 


left town for Plymouth, leaving their house in the custody 
of two trusty domestics, to whom Dick Chatworth gave a 
shrewd hint not to divulge the name of the family coal- 
factor, and to be equally mysterious as to that of the baker 
and butcher. 

" Success to the daring," he said to himself, as he left 
his sister's house, after giving these prudent directions. 
" There is no getting on in this world without gold in the 
pocket, iron in the hand, silver on the tongue, or brass on 
the forehead ; — Mrs. Falcon has got the silver and the 
brass, at all events." 


" Sure in some countries 
Ladies are privy-councillors and more, 
Are they not, think ye ? There the land is doubtless 
Most politicly govern'd ; where the women 
Are crown'd wives and sceptre-bearing mothers, 
Such states are flourishing." 

Massinger's " Fancies Chaste and NobleP 


" Mr. Falcon and myself— nobody else," those were 
the words of Mrs. Falcon's pregnant postscript. Oh, fie ! 
Mrs. Falcon, you knew very well that your storming party 
was to include your two pretty daughters, Emily and 
Lucy; with that eight-year-old imp of yours, wicked 
Willy in his Scottish costume ; fie, Mrs. Falcon, where 
did you leave your veracity, where did you pick up your 
morals ? 


At a late hour in the evening, but before dark, a coach 
drove up to Mr. Freeman's house, and there was no 
extravagant eagerness on the part of the servants to open 
the door, for the knocker was appealed to thrice, and 
thrice did the bell ring, before there was any reply to the 
besiegers' summons. 

"While Mr. Falcon (little assisted by the domestics) was 
engaged in extracting numerous parcels from the pockets 
and other receptacles of the coach, Mrs. Falcon stood on 
the flags, superintending the transportation of her goods 
and chattels ; and the imperious tone in which she gave 
her minute directions as well as the petulant way in which 
she occasionally flung aside her luxuriant black hair, 
which travelling had thrown into disorder, showed clearly 
that there was at least one Woman in the world who 
acknowledged no Master. 

" I don't see my cul-de-sac — oh, it's under the cushion 
where I was sitting ; there, just under your hand." 

" Sac-de-nuit, mamma," said one of the girls very 
quietly, as she stepped out of the carriage. 

" Count the hampers, Mr. Falcon," continued the mo- 
ther, not seeming to attend to the correction of her 
French ; " there ought to be three ; one, two, the other 
is on the top ; all right. Where are the rabbits ?" 

" In papa's boots, ma," answered wicked Willy, already 
alluded to. 

" I ordered you, sirrah, this morning, to see them put 

in the boot of the carriage, not in your papa's boots. Do 

take off your hat, Mr. Falcon, you can't put your head 

far enough into the boot with your hat on." 

Nobody who heard or saw Mrs. Falcon, as she stood 


thus issuing her orders to everybody round her, could 
doubt for a moment that she was commander-in-chief of 
the squadron. She was a woman in the August of her 
days; brisk and blooming, with black hair and brown 
complexion, her nose slightly aquiline, her lips small and 
compressed ; her eyes dark, piercing, bold, practical ; her 
features in general regular and massive, with a free and 
daring expression, which had a charm of its own for those 
who like what the French call une leaute insolente. She 
was above the midddle height, and looked even taller than 
she actually was, in consequence of her remarkably stately 
and commanding carriage, a point to which, perhaps, she 
paid the more attention, as it was the only carriage she 
could call her own. All the developments of her person 
were on a large scale ; she wanted no milliner's assistance 
to help her to bustle through the world ; and notwith- 
standing the intelligence which Mrs. Freeman received 
upon a certain delicate question, there were manifest in- 
dications about the bouncing gipsy, of a nature to alarm 
her friends and acquaintance, particularly the Rev. Mr. 

Falcon was alarming too, after a fashion of his own. 
He looked alarmingly hungry ! Probably it was in the 
larders of Marylebone that Ms arrival was most dreaded. 
Imagine a famished, but tame wolf, and it will give some 
notion of the expression of his sharp, ravenous, but mild 
and subdued physiognomy. He was very tall and meagre ; 
his nose was red and hooked ; his eyes twinkling and in- 
telligent ; his forehead high, narrow, receding, bald, gar- 
nished on each side with an upright tuft of reddish hair ; 
for, in obedience to his wife's mandate, he had taken off 


his hat, which certainly enabled him to poke his head 
more conveniently into the various nooks and pouches 
where any property of ,the family might possibly be latent. 
As to the girls, they were both very pretty, and pretty 
girls are often alarming personages. Otherwise, why any 
place in the world should have been thrown into con- 
sternation by either Emily or Lucy Falcon, seemed 
difficult to understand. To be sure, Lucy was a minia- 
ture of her mother, a piratical beauty, like Haidee, which 
may account, in some degree, for the feeling in her case ; 
but the other girl was of a different order altogether. 
She seemed, at least, beside her sister, one of those 

" Maidens never bold, 
Of spirit so still and quiet that her motion 
Blush'd at herself." 

Perhaps she had some other qualities (hereafter to be 
disclosed), in common with the daughter of Brabantio, 
but it is only necessary to add here that she was a 
charming blonde, of eighteen or nineteen, with deep blue 
eyes, dark hair, and a figure slighter than her sister's, 
but exquisitely formed. 

The truth, indeed, was, and it is only fair to state it 
at once — that while collectively this 1 vagrant family were 
regarded with apprehension, sometimes amounting to 
terror, there was no member of it (except the juniors of 
the masculine gender, who had yet to learn the politics of 
their tribe) who was not popular in some quarter or 
another ; who had not a party, or at least, a faction, in his 
or in her interest, wherever the mother Falcon ordered 
their flight. 
Mr. Falcon was an immense favourite with little 


England; he was the school-boy's architect and ship- 
builder, and Master of the Ordnance to the British 
Nursery ; incomparable at making cannon with quills, 
mortars of trotter bones, armadas of old corks, and armies 
out of visiting-tickets. Then, for children who were 
sager than to play with anything but the toys of philo- 
sophy, he could suffocate canaries in exhausted receivers, 
develop electric sparks from the bristling backs of reluc- 
tant kittens, exhibit the laws of refraction with a slop- 
basin and a teaspoon, and seduce needles out of work- 
boxes with a magnet of amazing virtue, which he always 
carried in his waistcoat pocket. In a word, he was the 
darling of the darlings ; secured the nurseries first, and 
there planted the artillery with which he often carried 
the dining-room ; which was, of course, the main point. 

Mrs. Falcon had the usual success that follows the 
steps of a fine and a clever woman, where she had not the 
sharpness or the jealousy of her own sex to cope with. 
Wherever male influence was ascendant, the gipsy was 
seldom repulsed, and often received with hearty welcome. 
"What man, who had either the eye of a Eubens or norid 
beautv, or the taste of a Borrow for Zingaree adventure, 
could contemplate either her person or her character 
without admiration ? In houses where petticoat govern- 
ment was established, she had a more difficult card to 
play ; and she relied, of course, upon her intellectual re- 
sources and diplomatic abilities altogether. Lucy, the 
brown girl, was playful and sprightly, with an agreeable 
knack of attracting the attention of governesses and 
masters, wherever she went ; by which she not only im- 
proved herself, but often gratified the truant young ladies 


of her acquaintance, who preferred battledore and shuttle- 
cock to counterpoint, or Mrs. Gore's novels to the Ger- 
man grammar. 

Emily Falcon had the largest party of all ; indeed, she 
was everywhere received with open arms, except in houses 
where loveliness and merit are positive grounds of exclu- 
sion ; for in this world as well as in the next, are joyless 
mansions, not made to he lit by beauty or inhabited by 


" Puppy. — What sort or order of gipsies, I pray, sir ? 
Coclrell. — A gipsy of quality, believe it. 
Townshead. — 'Fore me, a dainty derived gipsy." 

Ben Jonson — " The Gipsies Metamorphosed." 


Mrs. Ealcok had been, in her maiden estate, a Miss 
Georgina Hawke, the daughter of a dissipated clergyman 
and the niece of a profligate peer, who had passed from 
the House of Lords into the bankrupts' calendar in con- 
sequence of his patrician propensity to deal in horse-flesh. 
Lively and handsome, indifferently educated, and loosely 
principled (having lost her mother at a very early age), 
the brown Georgina passed the first twenty years of her 
life wandering up and down the British dominions, in a 
sort of aristocratic vagrancy, transmitted from house to 
house, forwarded from uncle to aunt, tossed from one 


cousin to another, generally received with welcome, be- 
cause, beside being a relative, she was pretty and enter- 
taining, but as commonly parted with (when she was not 
unceremoniously packed off) with equal or greater alacrity, 
in consequence of an amiable, and in her case a pardonable 
tendency to overtax the hospitalities of her friends and 
relations. "Under these unfavourable circumstances, lead- 
ing this vagabond life, the deficiencies she laboured under 
in the refinements and accomplishments of ladies of her 
social rank, were anything but surprising. A tomboy at 
twelve, she was an Amazon at twenty ; and those free, 
rolicking manners, which made her popular enough with 
country gentlemen, rendered her proportionably formid- 
able to her own sex, particularly to mothers who had 
daughters to bring up and out, of an age to be influenced 
by bad example. However, she managed to pick up as she 
jogged along, a scrap of an accomplishment here, and a 
sprig of useful knowledge there. She could never re- 
member where she got her music ; and Heaven qnly knew 
where she acquired the little French she possessed, and 
of which she was apt to make an adventurous and 
amusing display. But she was accused of picking up 
other things, as well as information, on her rambles ; and 
in truth she was from the outset a little predatory, as well 
as migratory, in her habits ; that is to say, she did not 
participate in all the respect that judges and lawyers 
express for the rights of property; or perhaps she inclined 
to the primitive Christian system of community of goods. 
Her moral delinquencies, however, were generally taken 
in good part ; her relatives and connexions were as often 
entertained as annoyed by her petty larcenies ; and some- 


times they even laughed heartily, as they screamed, "A la 
voleuae! A la voleuse!" when the daughter of the parson 
and niece of the lord trooped off in their satin boots, or 
marched away in their Cashmere shawls. Considering 
that, amongst other houses, she had occasionally sojourned 
in those of dignitaries of the church, and even in episcopal 
palaces, it was marvellous that Georgina Hawke's organ 
of conscientiousness had not been better developed, and 
very curious, too, that she should evince, as she always did, 
a particular fancy for matters of gold and silver. But never 
could she resist the temptations of loose bijouterie ; and 
numerous were the occasions when vanished thimbles, 
missing pencil-cases, and rings or bracelets supposed to 
be in the crucible or in the moon, were accidentally dis- 
covered in the recesses of her reticule, or the oubliette of 
some still more roguish privy pocket. 

Miss Hawke, in fact, was an Autolycus in petticoats, 
" littered under Mercury," a " snapper-up of unconsidered 
trifles ;" «for, having a shrewd gift of observation, she had 
remarked in her tenderest years the thousand " waifs and 
strays" (as lawyers phrase it) in the forms of combs, caps, 
aprons, chains, fans, feathers, veils, garters, flowers — the 
accumulations of bygone seasons, and the debris of 
fashions out of date — which strew and encumber the bed- 
rooms and boudoirs of her sex, as leaves do the brooks in 
autumn ; and perhaps she observed, too, that the hands of 
the lady's-maid are unequal in every case to the clearing 
away of all this gay rubbish. At any rate she was a 
match for any lady's-maid in the land at this species of 
Augean labour ; but even when she pounced upon articles 
of greater value, a diamond brooch, or a braid of pearls, 
how often did she redeem the act of temporary felony (in 


the opinion of all but the party plundered) by the 
transfer to a very pretty neck of ■what was destined to 
deck a very plain one ? 

Upon the whole, it was a question whether our hawk, 
turned " la pie voleuse" (for her girlhood was so nick- 
named), was more admired than feared. She certainly 
did produce more or less alarm wherever she showed her 
handsome brazen face ; and ere she attained her seven- 
teenth year, there was a desire very generally felt and ex- 
pressed to see her married and settled in the world. 

At length she was thrown, by one of the changes and 
chances of a roving life, into a mercantile circle in some 
town in the north of England ; and from that hour she 
may be said to have become the undisputed property of the 
middle classes. Then, for the first time, she found herself 
a personage, and discovered the importance in England of 
being allied even to nobility under a cloud. Could she 
have minced herself into twenty pieces, there would not 
have been enough of the lord's niece for the excellent- 
people into whose society she was now cast. Cotton and 
hardware fought for her : she was the desire of the pot- 
teries, the idol of the power-looms, and the goddess of 
those who dealt in crockery. Now an iron-master carried 
her off to Birmingham ; now the stocking-weavers of 
Nottingham possessed her ; she was the pride of Kidder- 
minster, the mania of Manchester, and the love of Leeds. 
There came matrimonial offers in the course of things ; — 
indigos proposed ; teas paid their addresses ; wine wooed, 
and cutlery courted her. It ended as such matters end 
frequently, in her intermarrying neither with china, cut- 
lery, teas, wine, nor indigo. Suddenly — marvellously, 
mysteriously — *he committed matrimony one foggy morn- 


ing with a moss-trooping adventurer like herself. In 
short, never was there a more suitable union in point of 
character, or a more hazardous one in point of prudence, 
than that of G-eorgina Hawke to. the ingenious Mr. 
Peregrine Falcon. 

To the dismay of her patrician kindred she now re- 
appeared at their houses in town, and their halls in the 
country, presenting them with her straggling, eccentric 
husband. His picture has been already drawn; it is 
only necessary to add here, that his nose was not uni- 
formly pink, but changed colour with the seasons ; — 
pink in spring, red in summer, purple in autumn, and 
in winter something between blue and crimson. The 
feature was the more important, because his nose was 
the only thing about Mr. Falcon that seemed to flourish. 
His person was a precise antithesis to his wife's : a shilling 
pamphlet on Poor Laws by Bidgway beside a thumping 
quarto Book of Beauty, by Heath. 

Falcon, however, resembled his spouse in being equally 
self-educated. Whatever were his intellectual deficiencies, 
he did not owe them to the systems of Eton and Harrow, 
He was a living proof that a man may be shallow, without 
being indebted to Cambridge, or under the slightest obli- 
gation to Oxford. Busy rather than industrious ; volatile 
rather than active ; cleverish rather than clever ; — he had 
been in fifty different offices in half that number of years ; 
for all through life he was " the gentleman in search of a 
situation." He remembered the time when he had been 
a clerk at Somerset House ; he had once superintended a 
copper-mine ; he had managed a lunatic asylum ; con- 
trolled the accounts of a national cow-pock institution, 
supervised port duties, been secretary to a horticultural 


association, and acted as deputy librarian to the British 
Museum ; and he had now just resigned the place of in- 
spector of works to a new railway company, which he 
had only filled for three weeks, with a view to obtain the 
appointment of secretary to the Irish Branch Society for 
the Conversion of Polish Jews. His employers had gene- 
rally a high opinion of his talents for a month, or so, 
but they usually got tired of him before the end of a 
second ; and if they did not, he got weary of them before 
the expiration of a third ; and thus the engagement very 
rarely lasted for half a year. The consequence, however, 
of this multifarious life was that he knew a little of every- 
thing knowable, and something of everybody in England. 
He passed, upon twenty subjects, for a very learned man 
amongst people who knew nothing at all about them ; in 
mathematics he had crossed the ass's bridge, peeped into 
the angles of a parallelogram, and nibbled a little at 
square roots ; he was geologist enough to talk of con- 
glomerate, and to be up to trap ; his botany qualified him 
to speak of the petals of a rose, the stamina of a tulip, 
and the nectary of a snap-dragon ; he knew the alphabets 
of several languages, and had " a little Latin and less 
Greek," like his illustrious countryman, William Shak- 
speare ; so that, upon the whole, he was not one of the 
least accomplished smatterers of the smattering age we 
live in. 

In the course of his many-coloured life he had numerous 
opportunities of conferring little official favours and obli- 
gations on a variety of people, and he had used these 
opportunities with tolerable dexterity and effect (if not 
always with the strictest regard to probity), so as to 


make a considerable number of friends, not in the senti- 
mental sense of tbe word, but in its most practical, eco- 
nomical, and fiscal signification. 

Such was tbe pair which had now roamed the world, 
without certain income or fixed residence, with various 
fortunes and few misfortunes, not always hand in hand, 
but still conjugally united, for nearly twenty years ; living 
none knew how, yet living tolerably well ; dwelling none 
knew where, yet never very badly housed ; eating, drink- 
ing, and sleeping better than nine-tenths of her majesty's 
subjects, yet seldom paying a butcher's bill, Very rarely a 
wine-merchant's, and never a landlord or a tax-collector. 
Meanwhile, they had scrupulously obeyed the first rule of 
Nature's arithmetic ; the law of multiplication. Besides 
the two daughters and the son already mentioned, they 
had another girl named Paulina, and an elder boy, Pick- 
ever Falcon, who was heir to the family estates in Air- 
Bhire, and the patrimonial castle in the Isle of Sky. 


" The early bird gets the worm." 

Old Proverb. 
" I'll example you with thievery." 

Timon of Athens. 


At an early hour on the morning that followed her 
arrival in town, Mrs. Falcon, the most strenuous of her 


sex, was up and stirring, fresh and vigorous as if she had 
undergone no fatigue on the preceding day. "When a 
woman of ber energetic character is once out of bed, it is 
the vanity of vanities for the members of her family to 
think of enjoying themselves in it. She first dressed 
herself for the day, and in doing so, she did not scruple 
to avail herself of an excellent pair of stays belonging to 
Mrs. Freeman, whose bedroom she occupied ; she first 
tried them on out of mere curiosity, and then finding they 
fitted her magnificent bust to admiration, she thought it 
was not worth while to change them for her own. Per- 
haps she desired to test the truth of the Shakspearian 
adage, that " every true man's apparel fits your thief," 
or to try whether it applied equally to articles of feminine 

" It can do them no harm, to wear them for one day," 
she observed, coolly, revolving superbly as she spoke 
before a large mirror, and surveying the appropriated 
corset over her plump shoulder. 

" Not the least, my dear," replied her husband, who 
was still in bed, lying musingly on his back, presenting a 
subject to tempt a caricaturist, with his red nose, and a 
nightcap of the same flaming colour. 

" I beg you will get up, Mr. Falcon ; there is a vast deal 
to be done to-day, but I suppose I must do everything 
as usual ; dear me, how red your nose is this morning." 

Mrs. Falcon next rang the bell for one of the maids to 
dress her promising son, "Willy. 

" There's no use, my dear, in ringing the bell in this 
house," said Falcon, sitting up and sedately doffing his 
red nightcap. 



" Not much, indeed ; I never saw such inattentive, im- 
pertinent servants; however, I won't submit to it;" and 
Mrs. Falcon rang the bell a second time a little vixenishly. 

"My nose is red this morning," observed Falcon, now 
risen, and contemplating that imposing feature attentively 
in the looking-glass. 

" Pray stand out of my way ; and do be so good as to 
dress yourself, and look at your nose afterwards ; I see I 
must dress "Willy myself this morning. I wonder what 
servants are paid for." 

And the gipsy having completed her toilet, which was 
smart and distinguished (although the details were per- 
haps a little incongruous, as if they did not belong to the 
same epoch of fashion, or were not the result of a single 
creative effort of millinery mind), hurried first to her 
daughters' room to see that they were in motion, and 
then proceeded to Master "Willy's dormitory, where, with 
maternal vigour and intelligence, she discharged the 
various functions of the nursery, not unmixed with a few 
piquant personalities to overcome the varlet's aversion to 
practical hydropathy, and also by way of salutary admo-- 
nition to refrain his little Gothic paws from the marbles, 
bronzes, and alabasters, more especially the beautiful 
Diana, on which Mrs. Freeman set particular value. 

Meantime her daughters were also at their toilets; 
and Lucy, the brunette, availed herself, after the maternal 
example, of sundry odds and ends of lace and ribbon, and 
one or two small articles of jewellery, upon which it was 
evident Mr. Freeman's daughters set no great value ; but 
ab any rate a chain or a bracelet would not be the worse 
for being worn for a day or two on the neck or arm of 


Lucy Falcon. The other girl, the blonde, seemed either 
not so dressy or not so larcenous ; for she attired herself 
in a plain white frock taken from her travelling wardrobe, 
arranged her golden hair in massy braids upon each side 
of her fair face, and left the bower where she had passed 
the night, without any more serious depredation than the 
use of a pin. 

Mrs. Falcon, her brown daughter, and her male chick, 
then proceeded on a little morning cruise, not without 
practical objects, for the gipsy was a woman of business 
every inch. Bearing down Oxford-street on a trade- 
wind, she negotiated a little affair of Hyson and Congo 
at the London and Canton Tea "Warehouse. Shortly 
afterwards she drew up in front of a superb magazine of 
groceries, seemed greatly smitten by the sparkling white- 
ness of certain loaves of sugar, and in a wonderfully short 
time concluded another commercial treaty with the man 
of figs and nutmegs. There now fell a smart shower : 
was it the spell that resides in the name of Italy that 
drove Mrs. Falcon to take shelter in an " Italian "Ware- 
house ?" It is just possible that she thought of the land 
of statues, pictures, and blue skies ; but by some degrees 
more probable that Italy presented itself to her imagina- 
tion as the country of cheeses, sausages, and maccaroni — 
that she thought more of Parma, Bologna, and Naples, 
than of Venice, Borne, and Florence. At all events, she 
transacted a little business in the Italian, as well as in 
the Chinese and Jamaica trade, before she returned to 

Meanwhile, Mr. Falcon, although he had admonished 
his wife that it was vain to expect attendance from the 


servants, found it so desirable to have hot water for the 
process of shaving, that be made several tintinnabulatory 
attempts to attract the attention of the household. At 
length, by dint of perseverance, be succeeded in procuring 
some water of Laodicean temperature ; and baving made 
tbe best shift he could to reap bis long chin by its assist- 
ance, be joined his daughter Emily in the drawing-room, 
looking as bleak as if be bad made his toilet on an 
iceberg, or at least, at the Hospice of St. Bernard. His 
black coat was severely brushed, and buttoned sharply 
up to his throat ; not a trace of shirt was visible over his 
somewhat bolstery white cravat ; his ancient ducks (which 
seemed the original pair, or first parents of the Russian 
family of trousers) were clean, but much too short for a 
man of his height, exposing to view nearly the whole 
length of his veteran boots, which were probably (to 
make them lit company for the ducks) the first pair that 
ever bore tbe name of Wellington. On the whole, the 
simple and amiable Mr. Peregrine Falcon, when his toilet 
was most complete, looked very unhke Count d'Orsay, 
but strongly suggested the idea of a bankrupt bookseller, 
an insolvent teacher of geography and the use of the 
globes, or (saving the ducks) the working curate of an 
Irish pluralist parson. 

Falcon received his daughter's salutations affectionately, 
but was rather laconic in returning them ; in fact, be loved 
to jump from his bedroom to the breakfast-table, or, as 
the old French proverb expresses it, "faire le saut d'Alle- 
mand." It was bis daily remark that he was good for 
nothing before breakfast, and many people thought he 
was not good for much after it. At all events, he was a 


great breakfast eater ; and he now trundled down stairs, 
like a father-long-legs carrying an express, to see what 
preparations had been made for the matin meal. But the 
parlour presented him with a fearfully blank prospect ; he 
darted his hungry eyes into every corner of the room, 
without discovering provisions enough to regale a church- 
mouse. The tea-caddies were invitingly open, but repul- 
sively empty ; he peeped into a sarcophagus, and found it 
as vacant as if Belzoni had ransacked it. The " Yestiges 
of Creation" lay on the mantelpiece; but Falcon, although 
a dabbler in geology, would have infinitely preferred at 
that moment the vestiges of a pigeon-pie, or the fossil 
remains of a cold ham. He was retreating " slowly and 
sadly," when a smart female domestic, neatly aproned, 
and sprucely capped and ribboned, whisked into the 
room, threw down several parcels upon the sideboard, and 
whisked out again as disrespectfully as she had entered. 

" Samples," said Falcon to himself, examining the par- 
cels, and brightening as he proceeded in the examination, 
" samples of teas and sugars. "What's this in the large 
parcel ? Bologna sausage, orange marmalade, and Tar- 
mouth bloaters." Before he came to the end of this short 
soliloquy, he looked sunny as the dime from which the 
sausage came. 

The smart maid re-entered. It was merely to say, 
that the boy who had brought the samples of tea desired 
to know when he was to call again for " the large order !" 
" After breakfast — in the course of the day — any time 
— the things must be tried, you know — tell him your 
mistress is not at home," said Falcon, in a state of con- 
siderable indecision. 


" My mistress !" repeated the girl in her sauciest tone. 

" Oh, did I say your mistress ? I meant mine" said 
Falcon, with a facetiousness intended to mollify the 
nymph of the brush. 

" Oh, indeed !" returned the hussy with an impertinent 
toss of her head ; and just at the same instant, a knock 
at the hall-door was heard, and Mrs. Falcon presently 
strutted in, blooming from her morning exercise; the 
impudent housemaid perusing and scrutinising her from 
head to foot, as if she were looking for Mrs. Freeman's 
stays under the gipsy's black velvet gown. 

"There is a boy waiting, my dear," said Falcon, "for 
directions about these samples." 

" Ob, I saw him at the door — I have given him his 

Then, turning to the seemingly impracticable domestic, 
she gave the necessary orders about breakfast, in a tone 
of bland dignity, which nobody knew better how to 
assume when occasion required it ; and the desired effect 
was wrought, for in less than half an hour the Falcons 
sat down to a tolerably good breakfast, for which they 
were mainly indebted to the early rising and commercial 
talents and activity rf the lordliest of wives, and most 
executive of mothers. 

The tea was highly commended; but whether the 
London and Canton Tea Warehouse in Oxford-street 
ever received the "large order," is not a fact sufficiently 
well established to justify the cautious historian in stating 
it with confidence. 



" Jolly, jolly rover, here's one who lives in clover : 
Who finds the clover ? The jolly, jolly rover. 
He finds the clover, let him. then come over, 
The jolly, jolly rover, over, over, over." 

Old Song. 


""Where do we dine to-day?" said Falcon, respect- 
fully, to the governess-general, as lie finished his second 
bloater, and was fixing amorous eyes upon a third. 

Mr. Falcon had been more attentive all his life to the 
present tense than to the future: but he could see be- 
yond his nose, and as that was a long one, he cannot be 
said to have wanted forecast : in fact, he could just peep 
five or six hours into futurity, a modicum of provisional 
talent which he daily exhibited, by making arrangements 
for dinner before he rose from the breakfast-table. His 
abler and deeper spouse not only provided for the exigen- 
cies of the day, but extended her views, like a consum- 
mate general, or profound financier, to the demands and 
necessities of the morrow. But then she was a gipsy, 
and had the prophetic as well as the predatory spirit of 
Egypt. Mrs. Falcon's eye could look into the next 

" I suppose either with the Puddicomes or the Eopers 
— those dear Eopers ! — it is so long since we have been 



with them. At the same time, we must not neglect the 
Puddicomes — oh! and the Bompases! — our own rela- 
tions — I was quite forgetting them, and my poor Paulina 
still with them. Lucy, hold up your head, — tete monte, 
my dear." 

"Paulina!" exclaimed Palcon; "I thought Paulina 
was with the Owen Lloyds in Denbighshire." 
Emily and Lucy laughed. 

" How very strange, Mr. Palcon, you never do know 
where your children are." 

Palcon could have given very good reasons for the diffi- 
culty, under which he occasionally laboured, to recollect 
in what parts of the kingdom, and in what houses, the 
several little scatterlings of his family were billeted, at 
any given time ; but Mrs. Palcon was not in the habit of 
giving his reasons an audience, and accordingly he seldom 
pressed them on her attention. 

" Papa, where is Pickever ?" asked Lucy, with a roguish 
twinkle of her black eye, glancing at her mother and then 
at Emily. 

Palcon helped himself to the third Yarmouth, and pre- 
tended not to hear his pert minx of a daughter. 

"My poor Pickever!" said the gipsy, with maternal 
tenderness ; " he is very provoking not to write to me. I 
hope the Smarts are good to him. Lady Smart promised 
me — what are you giggling at, girls ?" 

" Lady Smart! mamma," exclaimed both her daughters 
together, and both laughing. " Tou are as bad as papa. 
Pickever is with the Horngreens, at Weymouth." 

" Oh, to be sure he is — what was I thinking of? I 
never could remember the names ot persons and places. 


My poor Pickever ! lie left the Smarts because the boys 
were all so mean about their ponies — they must ride them- 
selves — just as selfish as their odious mother." 

" "Where shall we lunch ?" asked Falcon, rejoining the 
conversation with some spirit, encouraged by the disco- 
very that his wife was as much at a loss about Pickever' s 
whereabout as he had been about Paulina's. 

" I'll tell you my plans, Mr. Palcon," replied his wife, 
in her lofty way, only wanting a sceptre in her hand to 
make her look like a czarina. " I shall dine to-day with 
the excellent Puddicomes, and lunch with the poor 
Eopers. To-morrow I shall devote to the Bompases ; 
their house is the most convenient in London ; and to do 
them justice, they have been all kindness and attention to 
Paulina. I positively won't neglect them." And then 
Mrs. Palcon delivered an edifying homily on the sin of 
ingratitude, the practical conclusion from which (or 
" improvement" as divines call it) was, that when people 
have done us a signal service, it is our duty, as good 
Christians, to seize the earliest opportunity of dining, or 
at least lunching, at their house. 

Palcon ventured to suggest that it would be better to 
take the Bompases first, as his daughter was with them, 
and he felt a natural parental yearning to see her again — 
now that she was recalled to his recollection ! 

"No," said the head of the executive, with decision; 
" my plan is the best — leave it all to me. Mr. Tinto, who 
paints so beautifully in water-colours, is attending the 
Puddicomes, and I wish Lucy to resume her drawing- 
lessons ; it's an excellent opportunity. I have no notion 
of paying masters myself for mere accomplishments — we 


can't afford it. Eeally, Mr. Falcon, it would be no harm 
if you thought a little more than you do ahout the educa- 
tion of your children ; you throw everything on me — it 
would kill anybody else. I positively ought to have as 
many lives as a cat, or Plutarch." 

" Plutarch, my dear — " and the erudite Mr. Falcon was 
about to correct (with becoming modesty, however) the 
literary mistake under which his wife seemed to labour 
respecting Plutarch's lives. 

" Now, I don't want to have Plutarch's history, Mr. 
Falcon — how very learned you are ! How can you eat all 
that salt-fish ! What a monstrous cravat you have got ! 
did you put the bolster in it ? Never mind it now — you 
will only make it worse. "What do you propose to do, 
pray ? Willy ! fingers out of the marmalade !" 

Falcon was so confounded by this sharp cannonade, 
opened so unexpectedly upon his learning, his appetite, 
and his toilet, that he hesitated and stammered a little 
before he was collected enough to reply — " Lunch with 
the Eopers, my dear, of course, as you propose, and 

" There are other things to be thought of, I presume, 
besides lunching and dining, Mr. Falcon ; I wish eating 
would make you fat, but I really think the more you eat 
the thinner you grow ; if you ever intend to finish your 
breakfast, perhaps the sooner you make inquiries about 
those two appointments, the better." 

" Papa, choose the place in London !" exclaimed Lucy. 

"Papa, accept the appointment in Ireland!" criedEmily. 

"What is the English situation?" demanded Mrs. 


" Connected with the woods and forests," replied her 

" Woods and forests ! — nonsense, Peregrine ! — do you 
want to turn Robin Hood ? I think I see you a forester ! 
— Emily is wild enough, I think, as it is, without going to 
the woods to make her wilder ; and as to Master "Willy 
there, he would do nothing all day but gather blackberries." 

" I am more disposed to the other place, I confess," 
replied the meek husband, not venturing to go into the 
explanation necessary to correct; his wife's error respecting 
the department of the public service in question. 

" I won't decide at present," said the gipsy-mother ; 
" only recollect, Mr. Falcon, I positively won't go to 
Ireland, unless the situation is permanent, and the coun- 
try quiet." 

" Dublin is as safe as London, my dear," said Falcon; 
" indeed safer, if possible, for I am told it has lately been 
fortified. I know something about fortification. When 
I was deputy-storekeeper at the Tower — " 

" I don't like the idea of living in fortified places," re- 
plied the mother Falcon, not waiting for the close of this 
interesting chapter in her husband's life; "it's not plea- 
sant to think of being besieged, sacked and ransacked. I 
have heard of women being sacked — they do it in Turkey 
constantly, and throw them into the Phosphorus. I'm 
not a coward, I flatter myself; I'm as stout as any woman, 
and I was never ashamed to own it — but I do like to be 
Tiors-de-corribat? ' 

" Indeed, mamma," said Emily, " Ireland is quite as 
safe a country to live in as England ; nobody is ever shot 
but a tyrannical landlord, occasionally." 


" Occasionally ! — upon my word, Miss Emily, you seem 
to think nothing of shooting people occasionally," said 
Mrs. Falcon, rising from the table, and simultaneously 
boxing her son's ears for a repetition of his practices upon 
the sweetmeats. 

""Well, I'm not a landlord," said Ealcon, reluctantly 
rising too. 

" If you were, papa, you would not be a tyrannical 
one," said his daughter Emily, smiling and kissing him ; 
" but let me settle your cravat before you go out — it is 
positively frightful." 

" "Will you walk with me, Emily ?" said Ealcon, as with 
the prettiest of hands she untied the white mass that 
encircled his throat, in order to reduce within a reasonable 
compass what was indeed a monstrous wisp of cambric. 

"Yes, papa," she replied, unrolling the cravat; " but 
what have you stuffed it with ?" 

" I don't know, my dear ; a stiffener I found in a corner 
of the bedroom." 

"A stiffener! — ha, ha, ha! — mamma! Lucy! look at 
papa's cravat-stiffener !" Emily held up a cushion in the 
form of a young moon, which probably belonged to Mrs. 
Ereeman, and was not designed for that part of the person 
to which the innocent and ingenious Mr. Ealcon had 
transferred it. 

The gipsy and her daughters had a hearty laugh at his 

" My dear, I never saw one before," said poor Ealcon; 
and his wife smiled at the observation, and patted his bald 
head good-humouredly, as she marched out of the break- 
fast-room, like the queen of the gipsies. 


"Will you ever put your fingers in the marmalade 
again ?" said she to her hopeful son, as they proceeded 
up-stairs together. 

" No, ma," said Willy. 

" What did I teach you last Sunday morning ?" 

"To keep my tongue from picking and stealing, and 
my hands from evil speaking, lying, and slandering." 

" Very well, love ; and what did I tell you honesty was ?" 

" Politics, mamma." 

" And where do good boys go to ?" 

" To the woods and forests, ma, to gather blackberries." 

" Tou naughty fellow ! — where do bold boys go to ?" 

" To Ireland, mamma." 

" Well, indeed, I believe it is not a very bad guess. 
What is your duty to your neighbour ?" 

" I forget, ma." 

" To the Ropers, for example: think, my dear." 

" Oh, now I recollect, mamma — to lunch with them." 


" Sir, he's a gentleman 
Desertful of your knowledge ; you shall honour 
Your judgment to entrust him with your favour. 
His merits will commend it. Men of parts, 
Et parts and sound, are rarely to be met with." 



Ms. Palcott, accompanied by his daughter Emily, and 
looking much the better for the retrenchment of his cravat, 



proceeded, for the fiftieth time in his life, in search of a 
situation, as nimbly and hopefully as if he were just 
beginning the world ; and the result of the inquiries he 
made, and the comparisons he instituted, was, that before 
the expiration of an hour, he had conditionally accepted the 
post of Secretary to the Irish Branch Society for the Con- 
version of the Polish Jews ; the condition being the con- 
sent of his wife to undertake a journey to Ireland, and 
submit to the many privations and dangers of a residence 
in that tempestuous part of the empire. 

A modern philosopher affirms that mental action travels 
at the rate of 192,000 miles in a second* "Whether the 
operations of Falcon's mind were so rapid, or not, it i8 
certain that he had no sooner taken this provisional step, 
than his mind conceived a brilliant idea, which he imme- 
diately confided to his daughter, by whom it, was so 
warmly encouraged, that he instantly called a cab, handed 
Emily in, jumped in after her, and in ten minutes was 
closeted with his old friend Primer, the bookseller and 
publisher in Paternoster-row. Amongst his other specu- 
lations, Mr. Primer was proprietor of a weekly journal, 
called " The Metropolitan Mercury," to which Mr. Falcon 
had from time to time contributed "trifles light as air," 
probably often lighter, on a variety of interesting public 
questions, such as "Wooden Pavements, the Bude Light, 
Street Music, and the Health of the Parrots and Monkeys 
in the Zoological Gardens. Mr. Primer had not only a 
sincere regard for Falcon, but so great an admiration for 
his talents, that he always invited attention to his articles 
in a short but conspicuous leader, assuring the public that 
* Vestiges of Creation. 


the observations of " Viator," " Naso," or " Censorinus," 
were worthy of the most profound consideration. 

" Mr. Primer, I am thinking of visiting Ireland before 
very long," said Falcon — literary speculation gleaming in 
his eye. 

" Oh, indeed !" said the small, round, sallow proprietor 
of the " Mercury," rubbing his hands, and fidgeting about 
his little dark office, to find a chair for Miss Palcon. 

" And I'm thinking, Mr. Primer, of publishing my 
travels. "What would you say to a series of letters from 
Ireland for your weekly journal ?" 

" Oh ! just the very thing we want. Letters from Ire- 
land ; and from your lively pen, Mr. Palcon !" 

" You think they would do ?" 

" Do ! yes, and pay, Mr. Palcon — great demand for 
books on Ireland, just now. But you must take your 
time ; less than a week won't do ; the public wants full 
details — accurate information — you must see everything, 
hear both sides of the question, visit Maynooth and Der- 
rynane Abbey, know Mr. O'Connell, and make your ob- 
servations on the Repeal of the Union and Young Ireland : 
in fact, a personal narrative, Mr. Palcon — it must be per- 

" Oh ! I shall probably remain in Ireland much longer 
than a week," said Palcon, " for I am about to accept an 
office in Dublin." 

" Oh, indeed ! — delighted to hear it, but very sorry to 
lose you, Mr. Palcon. Does the Honourable Mrs. Palcon 
go with you, and this young lady ?" 

Palcon first explained that bis wife was not an honour- 
able, in the titular sense of the term ; and secondly, that 



his appointment was not yet definitively settled ; but He 
hoped, if he did go to Ireland, that his wife and daughters 
would accompany him. " If anything should happen to 
break it off—" he continued. 

" Oh ! in that case, Mr. Ealcon," said the bookseller, 
interrupting him, and suddenly lowering his voice and 
looking very grave, " I hope you will excuse me. Tou 
know how much I prize everything that comes from you, 
but unless you actually go to Ireland, and travel in person 
— really, Mr. Ealcon, I cannot undertake — I cannot 
promise — " 

" My dear sir, you don't suppose I dreamed of writing 
my tour in Ireland without visiting it !" 

" Well, now — upon my word— pray excuse me ; but I 
burnt my fingers very lately, Mr. Falcon — upon my word 
I did — in that very way. Did you see the 'Trot 
through Ireland ; or, Pigs, Potatoes, and Pacifi- 
cators,' published last autumn ? Well, upon my word, 
it was very nicely written ; we got it up beautifully, it 
was very handsomely noticed in my ' Mercury,' and the 
portraits of the pigs and pacificators were reckoned capital 
likenesses ; but it lay on my bands — didn't sell a dozen 
copies. No reason in the world for it, but that I could 
not prevail on the author to cross the channel : he dreaded 
sea- sickness, and his wife was alarmed by the state of the 

" And how did he manage ?" inquired Emily, smiling. 

" He visited the Holy Land, Miss." 

" The Holy Land !" exclaimed Emily. 

" Oh ! not the Holy Land in the Bible — the Holy Land 
in St. Giles's ; where the Jews live, and the low Irish ; he 


picked up the manners and customs of the people there, 
and then he made a tour in Wales to get up the scenery 
and the geological hobservations. Really, he made a very 
nice book, considering everything ; only it didn't sell, Mr. 
Falcon, I assure you. There's a morbid happetite, just 
now, for personal hobservation." 

The conclusion of the conference was a parole agreement 
that Mr. Falcon should furnish the "Mercury" with a 
series of letters on Ireland for a certain stipulated remu- 
neration; the tour to occupy at least a week, and the 
engagement to be null and void in case any fatality should 
prevent the tourist from visiting Ireland at all. 

This business having been thus satisfactorily arranged, 
Mr. Falcon and his fair daughter bade the little yellow 
bookseller adieu, and the westering wheels of their cab 
soon transported them to Charing-cross. There Emily 
proposed to walk through St. James's Park to Pimlico, 
where the Ropers lived — those " dear Ropers," with whom 
Mrs. Falcon had affectionately resolved to lunch. 

""What are pacificators, papa?" said Emily, as they 
entered the park. 

" Agitators, my love, I am told, whose duty it is to tra- 
verse the country with stout olive-branches in their hands, 
with which they knock people down politely for knocking 
other people down without ceremony." 

" I should think," she observed, " an olive-branch would 
give a very gentle tap." 

" In the hand of a lusty agitator as good a blow, I am 
told, as a shillelagh," said her father. 

" I had no notion the olive grew in Ireland," returned 



"It is not indigenous, I believe," said Falcon, "but I 
hear it thrives pretty well with cultivation." 

"It is a tree I love," said Emily, "but I do not ap- 
prove of making cudgels of it, and I suspect you do the 
pacificators a little injustice." 


" Young St. Just is coming, more like a student than a senator, 
not five-and-twenty yet, a youth, of slight stature, with wild mellow 
voice, enthusiast olive complexion, and long black hair." 

Carli/le's French Revolution. 

" It reads like one of Ossian's heroes, in that mystic and melo- 
dious style." 

Historic Fancies. 


It is wonderful how much country may be found in the 
heart's core of so great a city as London. It would be 
wrong to assert that the British metropolis is an actual 
Arcady ; yet the fancier of sylvan scenes, if he be not too 
exacting, may loiter agreeably under the elms of St. 
James's, or on the margin of the Serpentine. If he 
expect mountains, he will, of course, be disappointed. 
Snow-hill bears but a faint resemblance to Mont Blanc ; 
the hill of Holborn is very different from the Jungfrau ; 
and Temple-bar, though a perilous defile enough, gives a 
most inadequate notion of the Pass of the Simplon. In 
London we must put up with forest and park scenery ; be 


thankful that amidst so much plebeian underwood we 
have so many patrician trees, and so fair a sprinkling of 
little lakes amongst them — little Windermeres and small 
Killarneys ; nor pass unblest the temples of Pan and 
Sylvanus, represented by the Commissioners of the Woods 
and Forests. 

It is a pleasing contrast to pass suddenly through a 
dark-red lane, or a grey-stone archway, from the ob- 
streperous streets, where the ledger is posted in every 
face, and each man you meet wears an air of vulgar arith- 
metic, into the open parks, where the only speculations 
are on pretty faces, the only reckonings those' of account- 
ant Abigails and controlling Catherines, tott'ing up the 
fractions of humanity confided to their care, fearful of 
losing one of their decimal darlings in a thicket, or drop- 
ping some small item of the bill of live mortality into the 
remorseless ornamental waters. To how many strollers 
and gambollers in the woodland scene that stretches from 
the grey Horse- Guards to the old ruddy palace of Ken- 
sington, do its trees seem forests and its ponds Caspian 
seas ! How many begin and end their acquaintance with 
groves and pastures within its narrow bounds ! It cir- 
cumscribes for thousands of little metropolitans all they 
know, or ever will know, of sheep and sheep-folds, of 
Flora and the Dryads ; the Sylva Sylvarum of the baby- 
hood of "Westminster ; a duodecimo book of Nature, for 
the use of the infant-ry of London. 

But the chief attractions of the parks are the flocks of 
aquatic birds, beginning with the ladylike and lordly 
Bwans, and descending through all the grades of feathered 
dignity to the smallest of her Majesty's ducklings. There 



existed once upon a time, when royalty was more rural 
than it now is, a Master of the Swans amongst the officers 
of the palace ; but that high functionary has disappeared 
from the household, unless the Clerk of the Signet may be 
counted his modern representative, under a quolibet, or 
the Poet Laureate may consider himself, in virtue of his 
bardic character, the natural guardian of the bird that 
fades in song. 

However, the fowls seem to be safe enough under the 
protection of her Majesty's little public, by whom they 
are carefully nourished, in fair weather, with biscuits and 
gingerbread ; unbirdlike diet, of which the swans that 
drew Juno's coach, or the wild ducks, whose monster 
meetings on Asiatic lakes are described by Homer, had no 
conception, and for which they had probably as little taste. 
Tet the ducks of St. James's evidently love biscuit ; and 
the only risk they seem to run (with no special providence 
to guard them), is the peril of surfeit and apoplexy, 
common to them with other featherless bipeds. 

It was a bright and blustery day in advanced spring — ■ 
the sun in the roai'ing constellation of the Bull. There 
had been a shower in the forenoon, and the parks were 
fresh and verdant, even to brilliancy, obviously emulating 
the country out of town, and succeeding marvellously 
well, considering the great discouragement of the smoke 
that issued as usual from the tops of ten thousand chim- 
neys. Little England was present in great force ; there 
was a mob of Marias, a rabble of Rebeccas, Selinas 
swarmed and Tommies thronged. There perhaps a little 
bench of bishops, precociously rapacious, were busily 
amassing the gold hoarded in the cups of the daisies. 


There a chancellor in embryo was laying down the law of 
leap-frog, for a small bar as clamorous as bar need be. 
There little shrews were practising to become, in the fulness 
of time, great termagants ; and short coquettes threatening 
to shoot up into full-grown flirts. Toung demagogues 
were taking their first lessons in agitation, and eight-year- 
old oppressors of junior things were giving their first in- 
dications of talents destined perhaps hereafter to misrule 
colonies and dismember states. 

The scene was innocently tumultuous ; boys frolicked, 
tomboys romped, and the maturer portion of the multi- 
tude, chiefly of the feminine gender, indemnified them- 
selves for the gravity of their conduct by the- volubility of 
their tongues. The breeze, a pert zephyr, blew perhaps a 
little fresher than was desirable ; for while it crumpled 
the water, shook the trees, and ruffled the painted plu- 
mage of the fowls, it also took frolicksome liberties with 
hats and shawls, blew much beautiful hair into many 
bright eyes, fluttered caps and ribbons without scruple, 
puffed parasols into the air like parachutes, and occasion- 
ally grew so licentious as to inflate a petticoat and turn a 
silk gown into an air-balloon. 

In the midst of this scene, sometimes on the verge of 
the throng, sometimes in the heart of it, were sauntering 
(about the time that Mr. Ealcon and his daughter entered 
the park) two young men, students of law, who had torn 
themselves for half an hour from the captivations of 
Chitty on Pleading, just to compare the intensity of the 
solar light at St. James's with its brilliancy in Black- 
letter-court, Middle Temple. The younger of the two 
was a remarkable figure. He was tall and slight ; his 


features were handsome and intellectual ; his cheek was 
pale, but it was the paleness of study or temperament, 
not of disease or dissipation. The expression of his eye, 
which was dark and bright, was something between 
melancholy and fierceness ; but the most striking of his 
personal peculiarities was the length and profusion of his 
hair, which hung in thick shining black ringlets over each 
temple, while at the same time it fell down in equal plenty 
behind, upon the collar of his coat, where it was crisped 
backwards, forming a thick continuous circular curl, like a 
solid groove of ebony, through which with a bodkin you 
might have passed a ribbon. In short, his hair, both in its 
redundance and elaborate arrangement, was almost a 
feminine feature, and the wind seemed to be toying with 
it under that impression. Although the day was warm, 
he wore a dark green cloak, which he folded ambitiously 
about him, with a palpable attention to effect ; and this 
unseasonable attire heightened the general air of senti- 
mental ferocity by which he was distinguished, and at 
which perhaps he aimed. Although he was very young, 
scarcely twenty-three or twenty-four, it was evident that 
he either was, or considered himself, a personage, with 
some imposing character to support, or some startling 
career to run. 

His companion was some two or three years his senior, 
but as florid and mercurial as the other was pale and 
saturnine. There was nothing very striking about his 
face or figure ; but he had a quick, brilliant, grey eye, 
which announced not only intellect, but intellectual viva- 
city and sunshine. His mouth had the same agreeable 
and social expression, as if it were made both for letting out 


good things of one kind, and for letting in good things of 
another. He was about the middle height, light-haired, 
dressed with the proper degree of attention to the main 
points of the toilet, totally free from every symptom of the 
coxcomb, and we have only to notice a tendency to corpu- 
lence, to complete a picture which was agreeable when ob- 
served, though there was nothing about it to attract ob- 

" Tou look particularly revolutionary to-day, Mac 
Morris," said the elder and livelier of the two young 
men, to the younger and graver ; " pray come to the 
other side, the wind blows those rebellious locks of yours 
in my face." 

The grave and fierce student complied with this reason- 
able request in silence, and the other continued in the 
same sprightly tone : 

" Come, there is some wilder Celtic speculation than 
usual in your eye — what is it ? Tou are wishing the 
Saxons had all but one neck, that you might decapitate 
the English nation at a blow. 

" No, Moore," replied Mac Morris, speaking in a mea- 
sured and solemn tone ; " I was thinking of the full force 
of the expression — the regeneration of a country." 

" It means radical reform, does it not ?" said Moore ; 
" a general and complete amelioration of customs, laws, 
and institutions." 

" Tes, but it means much more : regeneration signifies 
a new birth. A nation — Ireland, for example — in order 
to be regenerated must be born again : that is, she must 
return to the womb of anarchy, and be born again in the 
pangs and throes of revolution." 



I trust, then," said Moore, with constrained serious- 
ness, " that Ireland will not be regenerated in our day. 
Tbu propose," he added, turning his lively grey eye upon 
his companion, with an expression in which humour strug- 
gled with solemnity ; you propose, I presume, to officiate 
as Dr. Locock at the interesting accouchement of which 
you talk so coolly." 

" Accoucheurs will not be wanting, when the hour of 
labour comes," answered young Mac Morris. 

"Have we many months to go?" asked Moore, se- 

" My belief is," replied the other, "that the night is 
far spent, and the day is at hand." 

" With revolution before my eyes, Tierna, I should 
propose to reverse that expression, and say, the day is far 
spent, and the night is at hand. What do you propose 
to call your pretty insurrectionary bantling ? What is to 
be its unchristian name ?" 

" It will be a republic of some shape or another," an- 
swered Mac Morris, not taking notice of the tone of his 
friend's conversation ; " but the precise form of govern- 
ment is not yet decided." 

" I'll tell you the form of it," said Moore, " and give it 
a name too, although I decline the honour of being its 
sponsor. Tour plans appear to me to combine undesir- 
ableness with impracticability in the highest degree ; I 
therefore propose to call your new government a Utopian 
Anarchy. And now tell me, who is to be the Anarch ? 
Old Ireland, or Young ? O'Oonnell ?" 

" Decidedly not !" exclaimed Mac Morris, with energy ; 


" with his senile twaddle about moral force, and the golden 
link of the crown ! Moral humbug ! Golden fudge !" 

" Tigernach Mac Morris, then ? No reply ! You have 
not yet made up your mind to accept the throne of Chaos, 
and call Orcus and Demogorgon brothers!" 

To this Mac Morris made no answer ; and for some mo- 
ments the conversation was suspended, until they came 
to a spot from which they could observe a group of chil- 
dren amusing themselves with the aquatic birds and 
gorging them with biscuit. 

" Observe, Moore," said Mac Morris, pointing to a par- 
ticular case of ornithological gluttony ; " observe those 
little Saxons, with what glee they contemplate the tor- 
tures of that ravenous duckling !" 

" Yes, Tierna, that duckling must be Irish !" 

" Irish ! No ! — the Saxons don't torture U3 after that 
fashion ; they reserve the voluptuous pangs of gluttony 
for themselves. The worst of it is, that it is our beef and 

" To which they owe the pleasures of indigestion," in- 
terrupted Moore. " There is our revenge ! The English 
are the most dyspeptic nation in the world, and no coun- 
try is so free from that complaint as Ireland. However, 
the Saxon diet, I believe, is getting lighter and lighter 
every day ; so that, in either case you have reason to be 

" I only wish them the lumper potato for one fort- 

" It would breed a rebellion, I have no doubt ; and, 
on the other hand, what a prodigious sensation a sirloin 



of beef and a plum-pudding would make in Connaught ; 
but, of course, no true Celt would dine upon those cha- 
racteristically Saxon dishes." 

" The Saxons are characteristically and nationally glut- 
tons ; the best fed and the worst conditioned race in 

" "Well, Tierna, their women are beyond exception." 

" I don't think so ; I can't admire their women." 

" Come, that is pushing your Celtic prejudices a little 
too far. I thought beauty, like literature, was of no 
party : Paphos, at least, ought to be neutral ground." 

" There is no neutral ground : the Saxon woman is the 
mother of the Saxon man : besides, there is more beauty, 
I do not hesitate to affirm, in my own county than in all 
England, from St. Michael's Mount to Skiddaw." 

" Good Tierna, reserve such extravagance for the meri- 
dian of Dublin and the Hall of Clamour, where you are so 
soon to figure. Eor my part, were I ever so fierce a Celt, 
I feel that I could almost pardon the Saxons for the sake 
of their wives and daughters ; forgive the Beast on ac- 
count of the Beauty." 

"There goes a specimen!" cried Mac Morris, calling 
his companion's attention to a lady who just then passed 
them, with the figure of an Amazon, and the face of a 

" Neither a fair specimen, nor a fair lady," replied 
Moore ; " indeed, her features are Celtic ; she is pro- 
bably Scotch, and consequently your national cousin- 

" English beauty has no spell for me ; you may play 
Hercules to a Saxon Omphale, if you are disposed." 


" Do you remember the woman we saw at the opera 
last Saturday night ?" 

" She was Irish, I am positive." 

" Everything Irish is beautiful, and everything beau- 
tiful is Irish — a pretty little Celtic circle to argue in! 
Here comes something intensely Irish, then ; Celt or 
Saxon, I think you will admit this is handsome ; the lady 
coming towards us in white, leaning on that odd-looking 
man with a nose like a red-hot reaping-hook." 

Mac Morris made no reply, but he was evidently struck 
by the beauty of Emily Ealcon, the effect of which was 
heightened by the extreme yet elegant simplicity of her 
dress, which displayed her figure to the best advantage, 
while the wind freshened her cheek, and threw her luxu- 
riant yellow hair into charming disorder. 

Miss Ealcon and her father were forcibly struck at the 
same time by the singularity of the Celtic student's phy- 
siognomy, attire, and deportment. 

" There is a hero for you, Emily," said Ealcon, when 
the young men had passed them. 

Emily smiled, and observed that the wild figure re- 
minded her of Mr. Carlyle's description of St. Just, the 
Erench revolutionary leader. 

" Do you recollect your New Zealand chief, Emily ?" 

" Now, papa, how can you be so malicious ? you know 
he was a Persian," she replied, laughing. 
" Have you got the ring he gave you ?" 
Emily answered the question by pulling the glove off 
her left hand, and showing upon the middle finger a tur- 
quoise of uncommon size and beauty, which the Oriental 
grandee had placed there with his own august hands at a 



fete-champetre some years before, where Miss Falcon had 
been, formally presented to him, after singing a popular 
Italian air in a style which he had not heard equalled in 
the gardens of Gul or the meadows of Cashmere. 

" Emily, my romantic girl, your mother and I were 
afraid, I assure you, that you had a mind to be Lady 
Hassan Khan ; I had hopes of being made a vizier, or at 
least a mufti; but we shall be late at Mrs. Roper's." 

" Come, Tierna," said Moore, as his associate continued 
to gaze upon the receding form of the fair Emily, " de- 
pend upon it she is Saxon ; you must not leave your 
heart behind you in England ; I have no faith in Celtic 
prejudices when they come in contact with sterling Eng* 
lish worth or loveliness. Come, I must restore you 
heart-whole to your friends, the repealers." 

" My friends, the repealers !" exclaimed Mac Morris. 
" I am no repealer." 

" You ! — no repealer !" 

" I go much further tban that, I assure you. Ireland 
was once a nest of kingdoms, and my principle is to 
restore them all. Dominick ! — mark what I now say ! — 
The Age of Union's is past !" 



" Lteculliis.—Alas, good lord ! a noble gentleman 'tis, if he would 
not keep so good a house. Many a time and oft I haTe dined with 
him and told him on't ; and come again to supper to him, of purpose 
to have him spend less ; and yet he would embrace- no counsel, 
take no warning by my coming. Every man has his fault, and 
liberality is his ; I have told him on't, but I could never get him 
from it." 

Tim on of Athens. 


The Bompases of Bryanston-square, upon whom the 
gipsy's little stray daughter Paulina had now been quar- 
tered for several months, were an opulent family, who 
kept a plentiful table, a comfortable coach, numerous fat 
servants, and (unhappily for themselves) several spare 
bedrooms. Their house was one of those expensive 
establishments where a thousand pounds a year might 
have been saved by the mere inspection of bills, and the 
commonest precautions against domestic peculation. But 
Mr. Bompas (a retired merchant and an ex-senator) 
was content with keeping within his ample income ; he 
left a large margin for extortions and superfluities, pro- 
ceeding on the principle that he could afford to be 
cheated, and that what he lost in revenue he gained in 
repose. He was a serene, social, dinner-giving, tooth- 
picking gentleman, with liberal good-natured opinions 
upon all subjects, an indolent vein of pleasantry, perfect 


digestive • organs, a capital cellar which he visited daily, 
and a handsome library, where he studied remissly, but 
occasionally slept with attention. Mrs. Bompas was a 
still nearer approach to that immoveable serenity, in 
which the Quietists supposed the perfection of human 
nature to consist. She was a preposterously amiable, 
and incorrigibly good-tempered lady, who never har- 
boured a suspicion, refused a request, or resisted an 
aggression, in her life. It might be said of her what 
Massinger says of a like character : 

" The plethory of goodness is thy ill, 
Thy virtues vices." 

In fact, between the easy husband and the easy wife, 
the Bompases might as well have lived without clasps to 
their purses, or hinges to their hall-door. Their house 
was a general rendezvous for marauders and intruders of 
all sorts aud sexes, social nuisances of every description, 
and country-cousins of all degrees of real or pretended 
consanguinity This was so well understood, that people 
would talk of going to Bompas's as they would of going 
to Thomas's or the Blenheim ; but it was much easier to 
keep their house full of dull and disagreeable interlopers 
than to make it the resort of good company ; in fact, the 
latter shunned as much as the former infested it ; the 
bores and monstrosities of every kind who swarmed round 
the Bompases as thick as wasps round a jar of honey, left 
no room for respectable society, or scared it away by the 
terror of their names and reputations. 

"The Bompases have asked us to dine — shall we go ?" 
"The Bompases! no!" — with a shudder — "they are 


very well themselves, but they have such strange people 
always with them." 

" True, we should have the Kickshaws, or the "Waddi- 

" Or the Kettlewells and Falcons." 

" Oh ! those Falcons — only look at Mrs. Falcon, and 
she construes it into an invitation to dinner. Send an 
apology this instant — not a question about it." 

This is a sample of the kind of dialogue that often took 
place amongst the friends of this excellent family, who were 
for ever wondering how it happened that so many people 
refused to come to them, and yet their table was always full. 

Still Mr. Bompas was continually attempting dinners, 
and discovering pretexts for giving them, as if there was 
nothing he understood so well, or achieved so successfully ; 
he was particularly ambitious of receiving authors, tra- 
vellers, professors, Polish counts, Italian refugees, and 
miscellaneous moustaches of all nations. "When they ac- 
cepted his hospitalities (which they generally did) he was 
greatly flattered ; and when they did not (a rare occur- 
rence) it was still highly gratifying to have to say, " I 
expected Count Sneezinskoff;" or, " I asked Mr. Pritchard, 
from Tahiti ;" or, " I was in hopes of having Captain "War- 
ner to meet you." 

This Boniface of Bryanston-square was sauntering down 
Oxford-street, on hospitable thoughts intent, musing on 
turbots, and devising means for catching an Oriental 
tourist, when he suddenly met Mr. Dick Chatworth (with 
whom the reader has a slight acquaintance), and he was 
delighted with the opportunity of asking the brisk loqua- 
cious bachelor to make one of the contemplated party. 


Mr. Chatworth was a professional diner-out in his 
secondary or tertiary sphere ; and diners-out north of 
Oxford-street are fully as respectable as diners-out south 
of that important boundary, although they write no articles 
in the reviews to bait their dinner-hooks, and have no 
anecdotes to relate of dear duchesses who treat them 
behind their backs as literary parasites deserve to be 
treated. Chatworth, like all his tribe, had his little 
budget always well filled with small-talk for the parlour, 
and still minuter chat, mingled now and then with a dainty 
bit of scandal, for the drawing-room. He had a number 
of anti-narcotic talents, by. the exercise of which he kept 
people from falling asleep before the second course ; a 
prattling, rattling, tattling little fellow, who officiated as 
Fame's deputy-trumpeter in Marylebone society, where 
he seemed to possess the attribute of omnipresence. He 
was now tripping along in his meridian splendour, covered 
with chains, rings, pins, brooches, and studs, enough to 
establish a jeweller's shop, recounting his dinner-invita- 
tions, and coining an issue of light jokes to repay a round 
of solid hospitalities. 

" Dine with us to-morrow at six ?" said the dinner- 

" With the greatest pleasure," said the dinner-eater. 
" House full at present ? — Capital family hotel !" he 
added, with the laughing freedom of an old acquaintance. 

" No, not full just now ; the Humblebees left us yes- 
terday; nobody with us, I think, but one of the Miss 

" Falcon !" 

" Distant relations of my wife i odd people, birds of 


passage: 'faith, Chatworth, I believe we have more 
cousins than any family in England." 

" If the Falcons were not your cousins, I should say 
they were rather birds of prey than birds of passage." 

" I quite agree with you ; don't spare them for my sake 
— you bachelors know nothing of the plagues that we 
married men are subject to." 

" One of them is keeping a house for the use of your 
cousins. The Falcons are the most domestic people I 
know — in other people's houses." 

" I have no notion where the old birds are at present." 

" Why, they are at my sister's, in Harley-street ; came 
to town yesterday." 

" Devilish sorry to hear it — I thought the Freemans 
had left town." 

" So they have, for Plymouth, and the Falcons have 
seized on the vacant nest. Falcons, you know, are like 
cuckoos ; they don't build for themselves — Sic vos non 
vohis nidificatis aves." 

" Chatworth, I'll burn my house," said Bompas, puf- 
fing his florid cheeks, energetically buttoning his blue 
coat, and feigning an exasperation he never felt in his 

" No, you won't ; you only keep it for the accommoda- 
tion of your friends." 

" Well, I won't burn my house, but I promised Mrs. 
Bompas a trip to the Bhine; I'll start the day after 

" Can't you do what the Eopers do ?— ' they muffle their 
knocker enormously, and give out that they have got the 
scarletina, or whatever may be the going complaint of the 



season. I called this morning, and found them all in the 
measles, expecting the Falcons to luncheon. They will 
pounce upon you next, depend upon it : somewhere about 
six o'clock — eh, mine host of the Bompas Arms ?" 

" 'Faith, I often tell Mrs. Bompas that we might as 
well keep a table-d'hote ; but the Falcons are deuced 
clever. I have got a music-master for my daughters, but 
you would swear he was paid only to teach Paulina 
Falcon ; she contrives to get his lessons all to herself." 

" Tou not only board and lodge your cousins, but you 
educate them into the bargain ; Bompas, you are the best 
family man I ever heard of. "Well, I bless my stars, I 
have not a live cousin in the world." 

" Happy man !" 

" You'll take Miss Paulina Falcon to the Ehine with 

" No, no, I won't." 

"I prophecy you will; finish her education with a 
continental tour, and then provide her with a good hus- 
band, before you get one of your own daughters off your 

" "Well, Chatworth, remember to-morrow, six sharp ; 
you'll meet the author of 'A Day in Jericho.' " And 
the becousined Bompas went his way, not actually 
sorrowing, but provoked to think that his wife's pira- 
tical relations were within a few minutes' cruise of 

Chatworth pursued his course, ruminating on cousins, 
and congratulating himself on his cousinless estate. 
Cousin, in French, he reflected, means a gnat, or mos- 


quito ; why should there not be cousin-screens as well as 
mosquito curtains ? How fearfully cousin-bitten poor 
Bompas is ! Why the deuce do people keep open houses 
and spare bedrooms ? 

" I asked Chatworth to dine to-morrow," said Mr. 
Bompas, to his tranquil wife, when he returned home, 
" and I'm thinking of asking the author of ' A Day in 
Jericho,' and my brother's pupils." 

Mr. Bompas's brother, Charles Bompas, was an emi- 
nent lawyer of the Middle Temple, who initiated young 
men into the mysteries of pleading, while he largely 
practised himself that divine art. 

" "Who are they ?" asked Mrs. Bompas, the picture of 
peace and plenty in bombazine. 

" Two young Irishmen, my dear." 

" Two Irishmen !" exclaimed the lady thus affectionately 
addressed, moved as much as it was possible to move so 
inert a mass, for nothing ruffled that did not frighten 
her. " Two Irishmen ; what shall we do ? — what will 
become of us ?" 

" "We shall do very well, my dear ; don't excite yourself." 

" But you know I'm so nervous — the bare idea of a 

"Biot, my dear!" said Bompas, laughing, "there will 
be no riot, believe me." 

" How can you say so ? There always is — " 

" Never in private society." 

" And who, my dear, do you intend to ask to meet 
them ? Nobody will venture." 

" Why," replied Bompas, amused at his wife's terrors, 


" perhaps I may pick up a couple of Ioway Indians, — if 
not, I'll ask the Green Man without his still, and a few 
iiice people from St, Giles's." 

" JSTow, indeed, Mr. Bompas, it's no laughing matter to 
ask two Irishmen to dinner ; will you promise me to ask 
Mr. Daniel, the magistrate ?" 

" Very well, my love, that's settled." 

" But how shall I ever have enough of potatoes ! In- 
deed, Mr. Bompas, it was very rash." 

" Recollect the potatoes must come tip in their jackets ; 
otherwise — remember — I won't answer for the peace." 

" I positively won't let the girls dine with us, to catch 
the Irish brogue. Oh, dear, dear !" 

" Well, they must have a peep at the wild Irishmen 
over the banisters. I stipulate for that. Lydia is im- 
proving in her singing." 

The audible efforts of a fair vocalist in an adjoining 
apartment occasioned the observation. 

" That's Paulina Falcon, my dear, with the music- 

" Oh, by-the-by, my dear, the Falcons are all in town, 
at Freeman's, in Harley-street." 

" Dear me ! just think ! and their own daughter not to 
know anything about it !" 

" Probably they have just as little idea where she is ; at 
all events don't say a word to little Paulina until after 
our dinner to-morrow; this house is actually an hotel." 

" What can I do, my dear ?" 

"What can J do?" 

"I do not understand how other families manage. 


They must actually turu people out, I'm sure if I was 
to turn any people out, it ought to be the Falcons ; only, 
indeed, Mrs. Falcon speaks French so beautifully, and is 
so useful to the girls. Besides, they are such friends of 
the Freemans." 

" "Well, I'll go to my brother's chambers." 
"And don't forget Mr. Daniel, the magistrate." 
" Never fear, and I'll bid him put the riot-act in his 

" Now don't forget ;" and good Mrs. Bompas, exhausted 
by a degree of excitement very unusual to her, sank into 
the drowsiest of all imaginable arm-chairs, billowing with 
fat cushions, in which guilt itself would have dropped 
asleep in five minutes. That chair, like most of the 
furniture in the house, seemed to have been bought at 
an auction of the effects of the Castle of Indolence. 
The matron remained immersed in the waves of down, 
alternately dozing and repeating to herself, " This house 
is actually an hotel," until the next peal of the knocker 
announced a new arrival of social pirates, or a batch of 
relations from the country. "Well might Mrs. Falcon 
say that Bompas's was "the most convenient house in 
London." But woe to you gentlemen and ladies who 
keep convenient houses! "It would appear," says the 
writer on bird-architecture, already quoted, " that in pro- 
portion to the convenience of a nest, and the comforts it 
affords, it is the more liable to be seized upon by those 
birds who are fond of shelter, but dislike the trouble of 
procuring it by their own labour." 



"My boyish ear still clung to hear 
Of Erin's pride of yore, 
Ere Saxon foot had dared pollute 

Her independent shore. 
Of chiefs long dead who rose to head 

Some gallant patriot few, 
Till all my aim on earth became 
To strike one blow for you, 

Dear land 
To strike one blow for you." 
Song of Young Ireland .- " Spirit of the Nation" 


The Irish pupils of Mr. Charles Bompas have already 
been seen sauntering, and heard discoursing in St. James's 
Park. On the succeeding day, the two students, Mr. 
Tigernach Mac Morris and Mr. Dominick Moore, might 
have been found seated, one upon each side of a tall, 
black, worm-eaten desk, in a chamber not much more 
luminous than a coal-hole, prosecuting their legal studies, 
drafting declarations, drawing pleas, and settling surre- 
butters. Tigernach' s hair was giving him considerable 
embarrassment, tumbling down over his eyes, and occa- 
sionally dabbling in the spacious ink-bottle before him, and 
then sprinkling the paper with the spray of the black sea. 

" A liberal occupation this," said Tigernach. " What 
may your task be this morning, Counsellor Moore ?" 

" Morning ! I thought it midnight. But what am I 


doing ? Declaring in debt against the son of a British 
peer for a thousand pounds and upwards, due to a tavern- 
keeper at Oxford for an incredible quantity of turtle, 
venison, champagne, claret, fruit, and such lots of ice, 
that I think I must throw in a count for an iceberg. 
"What are you doing ? Either in Battery or in Debt, I 
presume, considering that you come from Connaught." 

" Mine is a turtle case, too," replied Mac Morris, with 
a vivacity unusual to him. " Breach of promise — the old 
thing — Dove v. Fantail — bill and cross-bill. Fantail 
plighted his troth to Dove, under the impression that she 
was as rich as she was fair. He subsequently found that 
her face was her fortune — " 

"And he broke it." 

" Of course he did. Tou can only hit the sordid Saxon 
heart with a shaft of gold." 

" ' Cupid's best arrow with the golden head,' says 

"A sentiment worthy of a Saxon poet." 

" Come, Mac Morris, it is not for you to run down 
Shakspeare. I presume you are descended from the 
Captain Mac Morris immortalised in the play of ' Henry 
the Fifth,' as ' a very valiant gentleman,' intrusted by 
the Duke of Grloster with the direction of the siege of 

" I am ; but Irish heroism wants no Saxon rhymer to 
glorify it. However, is it not strange that my ancestor 
should be the only Irishman in all the plays of Shak- 
speare ?" 

" Pardon me, there is another. Have you forgotten 
the celebrated demagogue, Mr. John Cade?" 


" True, Cade was Irish ; but Shakspeare represents him 
as a Ken tishman. I wonder he didn't filch my ancestor, 
too, and assert that the great Mac Morris was horn at 
Limehouse or Wapping." 

" How did it happen that your forefather was only a 

" More of Shakspeare's disparagements !* My ancestor 
commanded in chief the Irish brigade that accompanied 
Henry V to France — at the head of our cavalry — " 

" Pony-ry is the better word ; for, if I recollect well, the 
Norman chronicler, Monstrelet, says that the Irish rode 
adroitly their little mountain horses." 

" Tes, it was a small breed, but no such war-horses 
were ever seen on French ground since." 

" Do you know what they were anciently called ?" 

" No.' ? 

" Hobbies. The hobby-horse is Irish. Tour ancestor 
rode a hobby in tbe times of the Plantagenets, and the 
race seems not to have degenerated, for you ride a superb 
one yourself at the present day. Your Repeal is the 
very Bucephalus of Hobbies." 

" False pleasantry, Dominick ! — that hobby will ride 
the Saxon down before many moons go round. The mo- 
ment I return to Dublin I shall leap on its back, un- 
daunted by your sneers ; and since you call it Bucephalus, 
I suppose I may accept the omen, and consider myself 

" The Eepeal hobby carries better in Ireland than it 

* Captain, however, was a title of great dignity in old Ireland. 
An Act of Queen Elizabeth abolished captainships, with a long 
train of exactions and impositions connected with those anarchic 


does here," replied Moore ; " so I think you are wise to 
reserve your wild ride for the other side of the channel." 

Dominick might have quoted Moryson in support of 
this last remark. "The said hobbies," says Moryson, 
" being bred in the soft ground of Ireland, are soon lamed 
when they are brought into England." 

Perhaps it was some fiction of law that suggested the 
change of the conversation ; but the next time the young 
pleaders relaxed from their dry toil, poetry was the topic 
of discussion. 

"How do you account," asked Moore, "for the scarcity 
of Irish poetry ? I suppose there is a Celtic explanation 
of it ; — it was not for want of bards, certainly, for there 
was an immense corporation of them." 

" Recollect, the bards were judges, lawgivers, and his- 
torians, as well as poets. If you were Lord Chancellor 
of England, Eirst Lord of the Treasury, and Dr. Lingard, 
all at the same time, your leisure for rhyming would be 
meagre. Besides, the chroniclers tell us that the de- 
struction of Irish manuscripts by the Saxon barbarians 
was prodigious ; many were torn up by English tailors 
for their measures." 

" I observe," said Moore, " that Moses, the tailor of 
the Minories, has established himself in Dublin ; probably 
commissioned by the government to complete the havoc 
of our literary remains." 

" Very probably," said Mac Morris, gravely. 

"Well," said Moore, "there is no dearth of modern 
Irish poetry, at all events. JPoetiea surgit tempestas, as 
Juvenal has it ; — it blows a heavy gale of song just at 
present. Poetry and politics seem in Ireland to be con- 


vertible terms. Your poets are politicians, and your 
politicians poets." 

" So it -is, and so it ought to be," said the other; "it 
is the politician's business to realise the poet's dreams. 
Poetry is but the theory of politics." 

" Now for a count," cried Dominick, returning to his 
labours, 'without vouchsafing more than a smile in answer 
to his friend's last observations, " for all the ice in Nova- 
Zembla ; and Heaven knows it would hardly have been 
too much to cool all the Prench wine which this tufted 
Oxonian seems to have guzzled at the expense of the 
simpleton who trusted him." 

"Dominick, I ask you," said Mac Morris, throwing 
down his pen fiercely, " is this a pursuit for intellectual 
men ? — above all, for men with our Past and our Puture ?" 

"Mounting your hobby ?" said Moore, without inter- 
mitting his labours, or raising his eyes from the paper. 

" Yes," continued Mac Morris, growing more vehement, 
jumping down from his stool, and tossing his hair wildly 
about his temples ; " yes, my spirit revolts from this pe- 
dantic drudgery. But term will soon be over, and with 
it the term of my captivity. I enrol myself in the 
Young Ireland Club — I throw myself into the Hall of Cla- 
mour — " 

" Good Tierna, keep your clamour until you go to 
Dublin. Shall I read you my count for the ice — ' Ten 
thousand icebergs, ten thousand icicles, ten thousand 
water-ices, ten thousand cream-ices — to wit, three thou- 
sand peach, three thousand pine-apple, &c. &c, by him, 
the said Grorges Merivale, commonly called the Honour- 
able Gorges Merivale, eaten, drunk, swallowed, imbibed, 


devoured, and absorbed, in manner and form aforesaid, 
at Oxford aforesaid, in the year of our Lord, and so forth' 
— copy me that into your book of precedents." 

" Collar of Moran ! why don't we revive our own in- 
comparable Brehon Law — the most perfect system of 
jurisprudence that human wit or divine wisdom ever 
produced? Here are we, Dominick, pent up in this 
dingy, sunless hole, studying the laws that have enslaved, 
and the statutes that have ground us to the dust." 

" Mr. Bompas's chambers certainly want no Venetian 
blinds : — I firmly believe that the tenants of this court 
have about as much ocular acquaintance with the 
G-eorgium Sidus as they have with the planet Sol ; but, 
benighted as we are, Mac Morris, I find much that is 
excellent in the laws you abuse, and a decided improve- 
ment in the spirit and temper of modern legislation." 

" Tou are lynx-eyed." 

" No ; but my vision is less obscured than yours by the 
lamentable prejudices of race. Tou see English objects 
only through the mists of your native mountains, and our 
Irish vapours have not the property of illuminating the 
landscape, or affording the most impartial view of its 
"details ; you may have remarked that, in your roamings 
through Connemara. God knows that England has suffi- 
'ciently sinned against us, estimating her conduct by the 
strictest rules of historic truth. Did you see my Tidd ?" 

" Dominick, would you were a better Celt !" 

" I am neither Celt nor Saxon, but a law-student and 
British citizen of the name of Moore, and I beg to ask you 
have you eaten my Tidd f " 

" There it is, on that lame hunchbacked chair yonder." 


" "What's this P ' Sybil !' — a novel in Charles Bompas's 
chambers !'' 

" Oh, it's mine. Charles Bompas is guiltless of having 
ever read a work of fancy in his life, except ' Redgauntlet,' 
for the sake of the case of Peebles versus Plainstanes. 
Look at it on the third shelf, bound in law-calf, beside 
Selwyn's ' Nisi Prius." 

" A very proper place for a work of fiction,.' ' said Moore. 
" The count in a declaration comes from the Preneh conte, 
a tale. I have just produced a tale of an iceberg, and a 
very romantic one it is." 

There was now a pause for some minutes. Mac Morris 
pored over the Young England manifesto ; and the plead- 
ing at which Moore was engaged, advanced with the most 
admired prolixity, exhausting sweetmeats and running out 
all the wines. 

" The Celt is more hospitable than the Saxon, cer- 
tainly," resumed the mercurial Moore, his thoughts being 
disposed by his present employment to run in a gastro- 
nomic channel. " I have been six or seven months in this 
opulent and luxurious capital, and I have never been 
served with a writ of invitation to dinner." 

" They have all the vices of civilisation without any of 
the virtues of barbarism," said Mac Morris; "how well 
the words irihospita tecta tyranni, apply to the houses of 
the Saxon churls!" 

" There is one thing which, on reflection, I must say 
for them," said Moore; "illustrious law-students as we 
are, not a family in London knows of our existence. As 
to Charles Bompas, our worthy master, he is not an enter- 


taining man in any sense of the word — but somebody 

" Another victim of Saxon perfidy, or some patrician 
swindler who wants to pay his tradesman's bills with a 
special demurrer." 

Mac Morris opened the door and admitted Mr. Bompas 
of Bryanston-square, with whom both the students had a 
slight acquaintance. 

He electrified them by the proposition which he came 
to make. " Plain dinner in the quiet way — nobody but a 
distinguished Oriental traveller — make Mrs. Bompas 'appy 
— begged them to let his brother know he would expect 
him — half-past six sharp — wind in the south-west — funds 
steady — a nice country is Hireland — law fine profession 
— great prizes — very laborious — good morning." 

" The deuce, Dominick, what possessed you to accept ?" 
cried Mac Morris, the moment Mr. Bompas disappeared. 

" Could I refuse to make Mrs. Bompas 'appy ?" re- 
plied Moore : — " there's something in the wind, though, 
depend upon it. "War with Prance, perhaps — the policy 
of conciliation ! Tou heard the compliment to Hireland ?" 

" Barbarous race ! — incapable of speaking their own 
paltry language! — Make his wife 'appy — I wonder he 
didn't say his lady. There's one of our lords and masters 
for you ! — By St. Patrick's staff, and St. Bridget's slipper, 
I'll not dine with him !" 

" Oh, come, it's a compact ; — were we to recede it 
would be said we kept no faith with heretics. It would 
be a set-off for the Treaty of Limerick." 

" A plain dinner in the quiet way ! think of that, Domi- 


nick ! — The invariable dinner in the house of a London 
merchant, is a round of beef and a couple of plum- 

"'Alarming, no doubt; but I am always curious to 
observe the manners and customs of foreign nations, so 
that with courage for our crest, and philosophy and reli- 
gion for our supporters, I don't consider the case des- 
perate. At the same time, this sudden burst of hospitality 
is singular. If we could see the sky from Bompas's win- 
dows, I have no doubt we should discern a small black 
cloud in the west." 

" I suppose we are in for it." 

" We are — shall we have a walk in the parks to invigo- 
rate our nerves and whet our appetites ? The clerk can 
throw in the money counts. ' To-morrow ! God save the 
Queen !' " 

And the light-hearted Dominick Moore jumped from 
his perch, twitched his hat from the peg where it hung, 
and followed by his fiercer aud sedater associate, emerged 
from the eternal desk of Mr. Charles Bompas's chambers 
into the everlasting twilight of the small smoked quad- 
rangle, where that indefatigable lawyer had plodded and 
pleaded for thirty years, indulging himself with but one 
rural excursion in the interval, which was a trip to Scot- 
land, not to admire the Highland scenery, but to visit the 
locality of the celebrated Auchterarder case. 

oe, youxg Ireland. G5 


" Brutus. — I know my hour is come. 
Volwnnius. — Not so, my lord." 

Julius Ccesar. 


Mr. Chatworth was the first arrival at Bryanston- 
square. As he was the pink of punctuality, he stood under 
the balcony of Mr. Bompas's drawing-room precisely as 
his minute French watch, not much bigger than a wafer, 
pointed with its little finger to six o'clock. 

There is no virtue more commonly thrown away than 
punctuality. It was only Chat worth's glittering evening- 
dress that prevented the servants from taking him for a 
morning visitor. A fellow in blue and crimson recon- 
noitred him sceptically ; and an impudent page, studded 
with gold buttons, like a door with brass nails, seemed dis- 
posed to ask him had he come to breakfast. The clock 
in the hall pointed to half-past six, which made the page's 
impertinence more provoking. The hall was strewn with 
portmanteaus, great-coats, bags, and umbrellas, like the 
office of the White Horse Cellar. " The effects of my 
cousins," thought Chatworth, He proceeded up-stairs ; 
and from the base of the second flight observed a rush of 
petticoats from the drawing-room, with sundry feminine 
frutterings, girlish titterings, and the rustle of many 
muslins. Of course there was nobody to receive him. 
Mr. Bompas was standing at that moment in Trafalgar- 


square, leisurely waiting for a Baker-street omnibus ; and 
Mrs. Bompas had made up her mind not to appear until 
the magistrate was present to keep young Ireland in 
order. There was nothing for him but to revise his toilet 
in each looking-glass successively ; smell each particular 
geranium and pelargonium, heliotrope and balsam ; then 
travel through Brockedon's Passes of the Alps ; next 
review all the plain faces in a soi-disant Book of Beauty ; 
and, finally, compare the stories told by three pompous 
timepieces with sentimental designs, that ticked in 
different parts of the room. Cupid and Psyche averred 
it was seven ; Aurora and Tithonus vowed it was near 
eight ; Time handing Truth out of a well, solemnly pro- 
tested with the point of his golden scythe, that it was 
past midnight. 

Chatworth was just marvelling what tale the clock in 
the kitchen was telling, when llr. Dominick Moore was 
announced, unaccompanied by his friend Mac Morris. 

" The author of 'A Day in Jericho,' " said Chatworth 
to himself, surveying Moore. 

" The distinguished Oriental traveller," thought Moore, 
paying the same attention to Chatworth, and confirmed 
in his opinion by all the " barbaric pearl and gold" with 
which the spruce bachelor had decorated his person. 

The young Irishman then did precisely the same thing 
that Chatworth had done ; he took the tour of the chro- 
nometers, observed audibly — "conflicting testimony" — 
and then looked at his own watch. Chatworth, on the 
other hand, found himself reduced to some stuffed hum- 
ming-birds, in a glass case, which painfully reminded him 
of other stuffed birds which he would have had greater 


pleasure just then in criticising, for he was nothing of an 
ornithologist as long as fowl retained their plumage. 

" If I don't speak to the Englishman he will never 
speak to me," said Moore to himself, and advancing to 
Chatworth, he hazarded a remark on the hours of eating 
in the Ottoman empire. 

" Did you find them convenient ?" asked Chatworth. 

" I !" — exclaimed Moore — " I was never further east 
than the Tower ; — but you, I believe — " 

" I have travelled further east than you," said Chat- 
worth, " for I have been at the Tunnel." 

" Singular," said Moore, laughing, " that we should 
take one another for Oriental tourists, when we are, pro- 
bably, the only two men in London who have not lounged 
in the Lebanon, and been bitten by the fleas of Jericho. I 
was positive that rose in your button-hole was the rose of 

" Ha, ha !" laughed Chatworth, — " I took you for the 
' Crescent and the Cross.' " 

" And I you for the ' Tiara and the Turban.' " 

" Palestine is now the regular lawyer's trip in the long 
vacation; the caravanseries are become inns of court." 

" AndDoctors' Commons," said Moore, " is removed to 
Old Jewry." 

" I fear our host has gone crusading with the rest ; I 
was asked for sharp six." 

" And I for half-past six, with an acute accent." 

"And I for a special seven, and here I am to the 
minute," said Charles Bompas, the pleader : who had en- 
tered the room unperceived, and now joined them, with 
his watch in his hand. 



In a quarter of an hour the Amphitryon made his 
appearance; another pregnant quarter brought forth 
Mrs. Bompas, looking exhausted and terrified, as if she 
gazed on air-drawn shillelaghs, and fancied herself in the 
heart of Tipperary ; and finally came rolling in two great 
globular Misses Bompas, accompanied by little Paulina 
Falcon (who looked like a cherry between two melons), 
ail in considerable trepidation, likewise evidently caused 
by Mr. Dominick Moore, who never put his hand in his 
pocket, but the fair part of the company thought he would 
pull out a pike, or produce a brace of pistols. 

Moore apologised for his friend Mac Morris, who, he 
said, had been suddenly obliged to leave town for Salis- 
bury on urgent business, and had requested him to pre- 
sent Mr. and Mrs. Bompas with his regrets and excuses. 
In the course of a few minutes, two more apologies were 
received ; one from Mr. Daniel, the magistrate, the other 
from the author of " A Day in Jericho," written on 
papyrus, and excusing himself on the ground that he was 
engaged to a pipe and pilaw party, at the Oriental Club, 
with forty or fifty authors of eastern trips and travels. 

Mr. Bompas displayed this literary curiosity to his 
guests, and then rang the bell and ordered dinner. 

" My dear," exclaimed Mrs. Bompas, " I asked old Mr. 

" He asked himself, mamma," said the eldest Miss 
Bompas, Dorothy by name, an immense fat, white girl, 
who went swinging about the room like a pet porpoise, 
kissing her father, mother, uncle, sister, Paulina Falcon, 
and everything kissable, except Dominick Moore and 
Mr. Chatworth, who sometimes thought she would end 


with kissing them too. Dorothy, however, was a clever 
girl, acquainted with three " onomys, ' two " ologies," and 
an "ism." 

" But we never wait for any of the Copplestones," said 

" No, to be sure, my dear ; but I said we dined at 
seven, and it's only half-past seven now." 

" Half-hours count for nothing in this house," thought 

"Eight, mamma," said Dorothy, appealing to Cupid 
and Psyche, and kissing the former through the force of 

Dinner, however, was ordered, and before it was an- 
nounced Mr. Copplestone hobbled in ; a most unattrac- 
tive and objectionable old gentleman, seemingly afflicted 
with a complication of all the maladies that make people 
charming in the eyes of doctors and apothecaries, but 
proportionably disagreeable to the rest of the world. He 
was asthmatic, rheumatic, phlegmatic, apoplectic, cata- 
leptic, and dj'speptic, very lame, very deaf, and very blind. 
As he limped down stairs, he pulled out a box of pills and 
politely asked Moore, would he like a " Cockle ?" 

" Thank you," said Moore, " I would prefer an oyster 
just at the present moment ;" and the fat Dorothy, who 
had fallen to him in the lottery of ladies, gracefully 
giggled, and began to wonder what people found so alarm- 
ing in a wild Irishman. 

The dinner, which had been hot at half-past six, was as 
cold at eight as a pic-nic in Nova-Zembla. It was not 
the cook's fault, nor that of Cupid and Psyche ; there was 
nothing to blame but the system of the Bompases, who 


seemed, nevertheless, to fancy that it was their particular 
talent and vocation to give dinners. Burgess, Ude, and 
Grignon— all the ability of the Trois Preres— the genius 
of the Eochers de Cancales — the science of the Cafe de 
Paris — could have done nothing in a house where chrono- 
logy and arithmetic were so contemptuously treated ; 
where every guest had a separate hour ; and the number 
of the company, up to the latest moment, was an indeter- 
minate problem. 

The soup suggested frozen images, and the conversation 
turned upon ices and iced things. 

Chatworth protested, when the fish came, that salmon 
was only worth eating in the Polar Seas, and told a story 
of Captain Parry, and an anecdote of a walrus. 

" Mr. Moore, take a glass of champagne with me," cried 
Bompas, driven from the cuisine, and wisely falling back 
on the cellar. 

" "With pleasure," said Moore, praying that the wine 
might prove as cool as the soup. 

" Tou are not a teetotaller, though I believe Mac Morris 
is," said the lawyer to his pupil. 

"In the cause of Matthew versus Bacchus," replied 
Moore, " Mac Morris is for the plaintiff, and I'm for the 
defendant. Mac Morris is a debauchee in cold water; 
goes to Donnybrook Pair for the sake of the brook itself. 
Por my part, I could dispense with water altogether ; 
managing to shave with mulled hock. The Rhine and 
Ehone are charming rivers, but I prefer their wines to 
their waters." 

" But you approve of temperance, sir, I hope," said the 
timorous Mrs. Bompas, alarmed by Moore's strain, and 


recollecting all the tales she had ever heard of fighting 
and frolic. 

"I do," said Moore, "when temperance keeps itself 
sober ; but I confess I don't go with the stream that is 
running just now. Mrs. Bompas, may I have the honour 
of taking wine with you ? — will you take champagne ?" 

As this was said in a gay, social, quiet way, it began to 
dispel good Mrs. Bompas's fears of an Irish row ; but a 
storm was gathering in another point of the compass. 
She had scarcely raised the sparkling glass to her lips, 
when a thundering knock shook the house, and made the 
plate ring on the sideboard. Even deaf old Mr. Copple- 
stone distinctly heard it. 

"What unseasonable hours people take for visiting !" 
ejaculated Mrs. Bompas nervously, almost dropping the 
glass from her hands. 

" Probably my good woman and the boys," said Mr. 
Copplestone ; and a shudder ran through the company, at 
the idea of the wife and children of such a very objec- 
tionable father. 

"Whoever they are, they are executing their habere 
and taking possession," said Bompas, the lawyer ; and 
in a moment the door was thrown open, and a servant 
announced — 

" Mr. and Mrs. Falcon, the Misses Falcon, and Master 

Moore was amazed ; but Chatworth, who took the de- 
light of a naturalist in studying the habits of rare birds 
of the parasitical species, forgot the cold soup in the excess 
of his satisfaction. 



" You must double your guard, my lord, for, on my knowledge, 
There are some so sliarp-set as not to be kept out 
By a file of musketeers ; and 'tis less dangerous, 
I'll undertake, to stand at push of pike, 
With cannon playing on us, than to stop 
One harpy, your perpetual guest, from entrance." 



" Now, dear Mrs. Bompas," cried the gipsy, " are we 
not the most impudent people in the world ? Kow do 
confess we are. This is all my doing, I assure you. 
Falcon wanted to dine at home ; but I could not think of 
being two days in town without coming to this dear house ; 
the dear Bompases, as we always call you. Then I pro- 
posed to dine with you in the family way — enceinte, as 
the Trench say." This unintentional picture of the 
speaker's actual situation produced an effect on the com- 
pany that may be imagined. " The children were de- 
lighted ; they are always so happy here ; I often say they 
prefer it to home ; so, here we are, such a mob of us." 

Chatworth thought of the swell mob ; but he could not 
but admire the conduct of Mrs. Falcon, particularly when 
he contrasted it with the behaviour of her more scrupulous 
and less intrepid husband. The Gipsy incorporated 
herself with the company in an instant, while the Red 
Eover stood bowing, stammering, hesitating, protesting, 
and making absurd and inconsistent excuses ; just as if a 


pirate were to jump on the deck of a prize, sword in hand, 
then suddenly take a fit of remorse and sink from a Paul 
Jones into a Paul Pry, with " I hope I don't intrude," 
instead of a cut at the captain's throat. In cases of in- 
trusion, like the present, the only course the intruders 
can take to palliate the enormity of the outrage, is to slip 
as quietly and speedily as possible into the agitated circle, 
and endeavour by easy impudence to efface as speedily as 
they can, the broad line of distinction which society per- 
sists in drawing between the enlisted guest and the 

" Dear Mrs. Palcon, this is so good of you," said Mrs. 
Bompas, looking miraculously gracious, as she rose in her 
languid way to welcome the nomadic tribe. But the 
happy person on the occasion was little Paulina, who 
jumped about her parents and kissed them as if she 
had never expected to see them more. Then she made 
the same demonstrations of joy towards her sisters and 
small brother, embracing them as if they had just returned 
from Australia. In fact, she had not seen any of them 
for a long time, and had a vast deal of childish tenderness 
bottled up, which now gushed forth, like champagne 
escaping from the flask. 

"What will you eat?" said Bompas, addressing the 
new arrivals generally. 

Palcon muttered something about an early dinner, and 
said, "I'lL just pick the back-bone of a chicken," looking 
like the hungriest wolf in the Pyrenees. 

" Don't be foolish, Mr. Palcon," said his intrepid wife ; 
"you know you have not dined;. there's nothing to be 
ashamed of, I'm sure, in dropping in to see one's dear 



old friends in this quiet way — now, is there, dear Mrs. 

" Oh, no, no, indeed, quite the contrary." 

" Falcon is always so modest and sheepish ; but I say 
there is as much real hospitality, and twice as much do- 
mestic enjoyment, in this sort of thing as in giving solemn 
stupid dinners one's-self, that nobody cares to come to. 
But I do believe I am the most domestic woman in the 

Chatworth looked at Bompas, and Bompas looked at 

" "What will you eat, Mrs. Falcon ?" 

" I'll have some of that roast veal with a slice of 

As to the Falcon girls and "Willy, their sister Paulina 
scarcely allowed anybody to pay them any attention but 

" More chicken, Willy? — Emily has got no veal — 
Dorothy Bompas, help Lucy to peas. Oh, mamma, I 
have been so attentive to my singing — I can sing ' Home, 
sweet Home.' " 

Another commerce of glances took place between 
Bompas and Chatworth. 

"And I hope, my love," said Mrs. Falcon, sotto voce, 
" you have not neglected your dancing." 

"Mamma, there's no dancing - master," whispered 
Paulina, plaintively ; " do make Mrs. Bompas get a danc- 

" Really, Mr. Bompas, this is taking your house by 
storm," said Falcon, laying down his knife and fork, after 
eating a prodigious dinner. 


"An Englishman's house is his castle," replied the 
benignant host, " and castles are made to be stormed." 

"A new version of the maxim," said Chatworth, 

"A very hospitable one," said Falcon. 

" Mr. Falcon, take a glass of Madeira ? Mr. Moore will 
join us." 

" Do you remember the story of Toltaire and the 
abbe ?" said Chatworth. 

" No ; what is it ?" 

" The abbe used to visit Voltaire at the Chateau of 
Ferney, and his visits were visitations. ' M. l'Abbe,' 
said Voltaire, one morning, ' how do you differ from Don 
Quixote ?' ' I can't guess,' said the abbe. ' Why, sir, the 
Don mistook an inn for a castle, and you mistake a castle 
for an inn.' " 

Falcon was a hardened moss-trooper, or he would have 
felt this palpable hit, which Chatworth, however, had no 
right to make, as it was no castle of his that was stormed. 

" Mrs. Falcon, you and I must have a glass of cham- 
pagne," said Bompas, with redoubled cordiality. 

" And where are you now ?" asked the mother Bompas. 

" I really can hardly say where we are ; in fact, we are 
nowhere. Vou know the life Mr. Falcon leads me. If 
we are in one place more than another, we are at poor Mrs. 
Freeman's, in Harley-street." 

It is impossible to conjecture what the gipsy might 
have proceeded to say of the family in whose house she 
was lodged, had not Mrs. Bompas seasonably presented 
" poor Mrs. Freeman's" brother, Mr. Richard Chatworth. 

" I call all my pets poor" said the imperturbable Mrs. 
Falcon, beaming in her most gracious manner on the 


gentleman introduced to her. " I always say, the poor 
Ereemans, the poor Horngreens, and the poor Bom- 

" And I have often heard my sister speak of the poor 
Falcons," said Chatworth. 

Moore, who was fond of humour, beauty, and cham- 
pagne, was now enjoying himself thoroughly, recollecting 
Virgil's harpies, and contrasting the frightful Celseno 
with the charming Mrs. Ealcon. Moore's taste in beauty 
was more for midsummer than for spring, and the gipsy 
fascinated him even more than her daughters. She had, 
perhaps, never looked better in her life than she did upon 
the present occasion. It was nothing to Moore who 
owned the guipure on her neck, the red Cashmere shawl 
that tumbled obligingly off one of her shoulders, or the 
braid of pearls that wreathed her Egyptian brow ; she 
realised his dream of Cleopatra, and he thought her the 
most superb brunette he had ever seen. Some time 
elapsed before lie paid cither of her girls the attention 
they deserved, or recognised in Emily the lovely girl 
whom he and Tigernach had met only the day before in 
St. James's Park. He now observed that her beauty 
was of a serious cast ; that " the music breathing in her 
face" was of a pensive, perhaps a dreamy character. 
Without pretending to any remarkable penetration, he 
thought he could discover in the sweet composure of her 
countenance, the blue depths of her eye, the soft but 
earnest melody of her voice, the serenity of her whole 
demeanour, and the severe yet elegant purity of her dress 
(without a gem on her white robe, or a flower in her 
golden hair), a something, he knew not what, that was 


not common — that was even more than intellectual ; some- 
thing refined and spiritual, that strikingly distinguished 
her from her mother and sisters, handsome as they all 
were ; and which he found it difficult to reconcile with 
what he had already suspected to be the principles and 
practices of the family at large. 

The same difficulty, indeed, occurred to every one who 
knew Emily Falcon, and the more she was known the 
more the wonder grew, that in the wayfaring life she had 
led, so little, or rather nothing of the soil of vulgar life 
had clung to her. She resembled a lovely flower disco- 
vered on the face of a barren crag, where it was strange 
to find, and hazardous to pluck it. 

Still, perhaps, Moore would not have entered into con- 
versation with her, had he not been accidentally seated 
at her side. The gipsy happening to mention that her 
husband was proposing to " drag her over to Ireland" — 
she, poor thing, who so dearly loved a quiet and settled 
life ! — Irish affairs were talked of; and as one thing leads 
to another in desultory table-talk, remarks were made 
upon Irish names, and Mr. Charles Bompas observed, 
that he never met so strange a name as that of his pupil 
Mac Morris — Tigernach. 

" It smacks of the jungle — does it not ?" said Moore. 

Emily's curiosity was raised, and she asked Moore 
whether the name of his friend was a common one 
amongst the aborigines of Ireland. 

" Kot very common, but it is not so terrible as it looks ; 
it is soft to the ear, though it looks so intimidating on 
paper; we pronounce it Tierna. Our Celtic names look 
wild, but they don't sound so roughly." 


"On the contrary," replied Miss Falcon, "Tiernaia 
pleasing — something Italian." 

" There, too, is Ollavh Fodhla, our royal sage (wiser 
than ten Solomons), — the pronunciation is Ollav Folia — 
it would do in a song. But talking of names, my friend's 
father has got one still stranger than even Tigernach ; — 
what do you think of Shane Mc Ever-Boy Mac Morris ? 
His friends call him Ever-Boy for brevity, although the 
most of them have time enough on their hands to give 
him his full title." 

" Dear me," exclaimed Emily, " Ever-Boy ! — that is so 

" Why the name suits him wonderfully well ; for he's 
as young at sixty as he was at sixteen ; but Boy or Buidhe, 
means yellow, or auburn ; the Yellow, or Yellow-haired 
Mac Morris. He has, however, another appellation which 
will surprise you still more : he is styled Mac Morris of 
the TJnchristened Hand." 

"How strange !" 

" It was an ancient custom, you must know, Miss 
Falcon, amongst us polite Celts, after we condescended 
to become Christians, to leave the right hand unbaptised, 
that being thus (as we maintained) relieved from pious 
responsibilities, it might strike a more ungracious blow 
in fight. In the Mac Morris family the custom is kept 
up to this day. There is an account of it in an old English 
writer, Campion." 

"Is Mr. Tiger — Tierna's hand unchristened ?" asked 

"Yes; it makes his Puseyite friends at the Temple 
very uneasy ; they go for total immersion." 


Moore now took wine with his fair neighbour, and grew 
more conversational. Emily asked him several questions 
about Ireland, evincing by her inquiries and observations 
that the subject interested her, and that her attention 
had been already directed towards it. Dominick told her 
anecdotes of old customs, described remarkable places, 
and drew humorous sketches of public men. The pic- 
turesque in politics insensibly mingled with the pic- 
turesque in nature. The scenery of the Galtees brought 
reminiscences of Captain Hock ; the natural wealth of the 
plains and valleys of Munster led by the association of 
contrast to the unnatural destitution of their inhabitants ; 
the charming scenery of Kerry involved an account of 
O'Connell; and the wilder features of Connemara con- 
ducted the conversation back to Tierna Mac Morris and 
YouDg Ireland. 

"In other parts of Ireland," said Moore, "the wealth 
of the soil, and the poverty of the husbandman are pain- 
fully and fearfully contrasted, but in the western high- 
lands, my friend's country, ^Nature and man seem more in 
unison ; both are attractively wild, and the barrenness of 
the mountains corresponds with the indigence of the 
mountaineer. I often compare the sterile sublimity of 
Connemara with the magnificent unproductiveness of my 
friend Mac Morris's speculations, a superb chain of fancies, 
like the scenery of the clouds at sunset." 

Moore then spoke of his absent fellow-student with 
affectionate fervour, and enlarged upon his talents and 
enthusiasm, touching the extravagant points of his cha- 
racter without ridicule, and sketching his personal cox- 
combries without caricature or satire, The pale counte- 


nance — the profuse black hair — the sentimental ferocity 
of the eye and the lip— recalled the form she had, on the 
previous day, encountered in the park ; and Emily Falcon 
had no hesitation in identifying the friend of Moore with 
the dramatic figure which she had likened to St. Just. 
She made the remark to her father in an under tone, and 
Moore, who was equally struck by the felicity of the 
similitude, and by the singularity of its having first oc- 
curred to the girl beside him, could not help inquiring if 
she admired the revolutionary chief whose name she had 

Emily coloured slightly, but replied, with her charming 
frankness, that she thought there was much romantic 
interest in the character and portrait of St. Just, drawn 
by Mr. Carlyle in his work on the French Revolution. 
Moore perceived that he had made the acquaintance of a 
hero-worshipper ; the blush, slight as it was, satisfied him 
that she was not a blue-stocking. 

" Oh, you have no notion how romantic Emily is," ex- 
claimed the gipsy-mother, joining the conversation in her 
unceremonious abrupt way ; " I often tell her she will 
marry TJlue-Beard, or St. George and the Dragon." 

" How can you say so, mamma ?" cried Emily, now 
blushing decidedly, and justly displeased at this not very 
flattering account given of her to a stranger. 

"Ireland is the country for heroes," said Dominick, 
and then checked himself, seeing that Miss Ealcon dis- 
liked the turn the conversation had taken. 

However, it was not easy to keep Mrs. Ealcon quiet. 
She again exclaimed, " Oh, indeed, Mr. Moore, it was a 
countrywoman of yours made Emily so sentimental; she 


met her in Scotland two or tliree years ago. I knew an 
Irishman myself once ; he was a count — I quite forget his 
name — Count something — but he was a very handsome 
man, and very highly connected — lie avec toutes Jes 
potatoes de V Europe." 

" Puissances," whispered Emily, colouring as she in- 
stinctively, but vainly, corrected her mother's French. 

Dominick could not guess who the Irish noble was, who 
had the honour of moving in so high a sphere as the scaf- 
folds of the continent, but he said : 

"I presume the count was & galloiu-glass," and then he 
entertained Emily again with an account of the ancient 
gallow-glasses, and wood-kernes ; whence he was led into 
the history of a variety of ancient manners and customs, 
such as coshering, coigne and livery, cuddies, and night- 
suppers. Mrs. Palcon, true to her freebooting character, 
was infinitely charmed by the account Moore gave of the 
system of coshering, or living at large on society, using 
other people's houses as your own, and making yourself 
as comfortable and luxurious as possible at the expense of 
your kindred and acquaintance.* 

* An Act of Henry VI. was made against night-suppers, or cud- 
dies, lawless festivities indulged in (particularly in time of harvest) 
by the Irish captains, marchers, and gallow-glasses, with, their 
wives, daughters, pages, and sons, at the expense, and often to the 
ruin, of the husbandmen and tenants of the soil, who, it would 
appear, were so un-Irish as not to enter into the spirit and fun of 
those nocturnal gaieties — probably because they " paid the piper." 
The revival of customs at once so pleasant and picturesque, is evi- 
dently a project worthy of the young Celtic statesmen of the day. 
" Coigne and livery" was a usage still more uncivilised and extor- 
tionate. Sir John Davis was of opinion that Beelzebub might 
have borrowed it with advantage for the improvement of Pande- 
monium. Perhaps in the custom still prevalent in Dublin of giving 


''■ It must be positively delightful," she said. " Ihad no 
idea Ireland was so lovely a country — really people have 
very mistaken notions — I hope coshering and night- 
suppers are not gone out of fashion." 

"Why, they have fallen a little into disuse," said 
Dominick, " hut my friend Mr. Tierna Mac Morris is 
going over to Ireland in a few days to revive that and 
twenty more charming barbarian usages." 

The separation of the sexes now took place, after the 
custom of England, which is the law of the land. The 
gentlemen adhered to the dinner-table and their claret — ■ 
the ladies retired to their drawiug-room and their tea ; 
the fair fat Dorothy availing herself of the opportunity to 
kiss all her visitors as they successively passed her, and 
then making her exit, kissing her mother, as if she had 
never kissed her before. 

The jug went round with the rosy wine, and Mr. Bom- 
pas repeated his regret that he had not had the pleasure 
of Mac Morris's company. 

"Is your friend a poet, Mr. Moore ?" 

" No — except in his politics. There's nothing wilder or 
dreamier in German romance, than the projects of Young 

" Too much occupied with his political engagements to 
remember his dinner ones." 

" I don't think he can have any political business at 
Salisbury," said Moore. 

" Perhaps he has gone down to excite young Wilts," 
said Chatworth. 

money to the servants of the house where you dine may he detected 
a trace of the barbarous practice of coin, and livery. 


"Does Mac Morris stand high in the opinion of his 
party ?" asked Charles Bompas. 

" He is the Coningsby of Ireland," replied Moore. 

" Perhaps he is in love, like Coningsby, — some beauty 
of Salisbury— eh ?" 

" If he is in love, it is with an ideal mistress — and why 
should not a young Xuma have his Egeria as well as an 
old one." 

" Don't you think, had he been here to-day, his ideal 
mistress might have been realised ?" said Bompas apart 
to Moore. 

" I think his Egeria could not take a more attractive 
shape," Moore answered, " but a Saxon nymph in a 
Celtic grotto would be treason to the principle of nation- 

" Is the prejudice so very strong ?" 

"As strong as human folly, which is the strongest 
thing I know, let fools say what they will of wisdom. I 
have immense faith in the rising generation of fools and 

"What do you mean by the principle of nationality?" 
asked the lawyer, a sensible man, but one who knew little 
of what went on in the world beyond the precincts of 
"Westminster Hall and the Inns of Court. 

" Ireland for the Irish," replied Moore, " "Wales for the 
Welsh, Sark for the Sarkians, and the Scilly Isles for the 
Scilly people ; the principle of confusion opposed to the 
principle of fusion ; the best of all imaginable systems to 
reduce the human race below the monkey, to the level of 
the Yahoo." 

" The thing is fortunately impracticable," said Mr. 




Bompas, the ex-senator. " I always considered the divi- 
sion of the world itself into nations a serious evil." 

" So far from saying Ireland for the Irish, Scotland for 
the Scotch, and England for the English, I should say 
Ireland for the English, England for the Irish, Scotland 
for Irish and English, and — but there is not much occa- 
sion to dissuade the Scotch from sticking too close to 

"We are all relations— all one imperial family," said 
the lawyer. 

"All cousins — ch, Bompas?" said Chatworth, laughing. 

" Eaith, I believe so," replied Bompas, smiling and 
shrugging his shoulders. " Pass the bottle, Mr. Ealcori." 

In the drawing- room they found the two Bompas girls 
vigorously belabouring the piano, and extorting the most 
discordant sounds from the tortured instrument. 

" Did you ever see a pair of globes ?" whispered Chat- 
worth to Moore, alluding to the graceful figures of the 
young ladies. 

" But I never heard the music of the spheres before," 
replied Moore. 

"Tour daughters are lovely," said the flattering gipsy 
to Mrs. Bompas. 

" Dorothy is not come out yet — would you believe it?" 
said the fat, fond mother. 

" She will make such a sensation !" said Mrs. Ealeon. 

" She ought to come out in numbers," said Chatworth 
sotto voce. "She is too voluminous for a single publi- 

"Miss Ealcon has not forgot her singing, I hope ?" said 
Mr. Bompas, 


" Emily, my dear, sing something for .Mr. Bompas," 
said the gipsy. 

Miss Falcon obeyed, selecting 

" Blow, blow, thou wintry wind," &c. 

the exquisite strain of Amiens in " As You Like It." 

" Your daughter has a voice to create a soul under the 
ribs of death," said Chatwortb, who understood vocal 
music, to Mr. Falcon, who stood behind Emhy, exulting 
in her performance, which was, indeed, admirable. 

"Or under yours, Charles," said Mr. Bompas to his 
brother the lawyer, " and that would be quite as mira- 


"Who is Sylvia? What is she, 

That all our swains commend her ? 
Holy, fair, and wise is she, 

The heavens such grace did lend her." 

Two Gentlemen of Verona. 




Moore's conversation was airy without frivolity, and 
instructive without being didactic. The lively sketches 
he drew of Irish scenery and society, mingled with serious 
touches, alternately of sympathy and satire, according as 
he spoke of the sufferings and grievances of the people or 
the follies and delinquencies of their chiefs and rulers, 
failed not to make a deep impression upon the thoughtful 


and imaginative girl to whose ear they were addressed. 
There was something about Emily Falcon of the old- 
world freshness and intense yet delicate enthusiasm of 
Shakspeare's most romantic female characters, his He- 
lenas, his Eosalinds, his Mirandas; but, perhaps, her 
girlish admiration of the heroic and chivalrous strain in 
the other sex made her still more resemble Desdemona, — 
she who shunned 

" The wealthy curled darlings of her nation." 

and shocked the formal Eoderigo by 

" Tying her duty, beauty, wit, and fortunes 
To an extravagant and wheeling stranger." 

This comparison had occurred to Moore, when he ob- 
served how " seriously" she " inclined" to the wilder and 
more fantastic features, both physical and moral, of his 
picture of Ireland, particularly the romantic schemes and 
aspirations of the youthful patriots of the day; but there 
was this obvious difference, which he was equally quick 
in noting, namely, that the fair Englishwoman was not 
charmed, like the lovely Venetian, by the teller of the 
wondrous tale, but only by the tale itself, which would, 
doubtless, have been more bewitching had Mac Morris 
been the chronicler as well as the hero. 

It is possible, nay, probable, that had Miss Falcon re- 
ceived a stricter education, and had the characters and 
roving life of her parents been as favourable to the 
formation of her judgment as they were to the play of 
the imaginative faculties (which are themselves of the 
vagrant and gipsy strain), the ludicrous points of the 
political sketches which Moore dashed off for her enter- 


tainment, would have produced their due effect ; — but 
disciplined or undisciplined as she was, — with an enthu- 
siastic temperament and quick sense of truth and beauty, 
exulting in the creations of poetry and idolatrous of the 
works of nature, with affections pure and elevated, that 
gave her tears for all who suffer and smiles for all who 
sympathise with suffering, predisposed, too (from circum- 
stances subsequently to be explained), to regard with 
tender interest everything connected with the history 
and fate of Ireland, — what was to be less marvelled at 
than that she should confound the political Quixotism, 
which was there so rife, with the wise, patriotic spirit, 
which was so uncommon ? that a girl like her should fall 
into such an error, was just as natural as that she should 
court acquaintanceship with the wdd charms of Kerry, 
or the more savage attractions of Connemara. The idea 
of youthful patriotism — of a youthful patriot rather (for 
imagination loves the singular number — to separate a 
solitary figure from the group, and array it with all the 
qualities of its compeers) — the idea, in fact, of young Mac 
Morris, so poetically handsome, so heroically moulded, 
with that frenzied eye and those impassioned locks, 
sweeping like a storm to the defence of a lovely and an 
outraged land, possessed itself of Emily's fancy, there to 
be contemplated with intellectual rapture, only too con- 
vertible (as many a tale told by old experience testifies) 
into more perilous delight. As to the freaks and extra- 
vagances of the party of which our young Celtic enthusiast 
was certainly the best representative that could have been 
returned to the parliament of Fancy, Emily was just 
as little minded to treat them with disrespect as was 


the hero-worshipping daughter of Brabantio to ridicule 
Othello's tale of the Anthropophagi. She would as soon 
have smiled at a comet for its eccentricity, or upbraided 
a meteor with its irregular streaming to the gale. 

A few touches have been already given of Miss Falcon's 
personal attractions, and a certain pensive expression was 
noticed as one of the traits of her quiet but exquisite 
style of beauty. It was not melancholy — not at all — but 
a deep and tender seriousness, related not very remotely 
to that mood of mind. It was visible in her eyes, which 
looked as ir they had wept, without the tears having 
dimmed their lustre ; and even more perceptible in her 
voice, which was spoken music, a low, deep, clear mur- 
muring voice, which, when it sang, was only more power- 
ful, not sweeter, and in its most delicious warblings had 
an under- current of sadness in unison with the spirit of 
her beauty. To those who read the story of woman in 
the favour of her countenance, and the breath of her lips, 
the thought would just suggest itself that at some period 
of the fair girl's existence, brief as it had been, care had 
crumpled a rose-leaf in her pillow, or haply stung her 
with a thorn: she bad been a spirit of charity in some 
house of mourning, a fair paraclete by some bed of sorrow, 
or she had sat and watched the fading of some beloved 
face, and dropped a tear and a flower upon some untimely 

And there was a passage in her life connected with her 
romantic attachment to Ireland, which supported the in- 
ference drawn from her charms. 

A few years before the present period (when she had 
not counted quite sixteen summers) Emily had been sent 


on a vagrant expedition, of her mother's proposal and con- 
trivance (to suit some temporary convenience of roving 
life), to the house of a relation in Scotland, a cold, 
austere, unfeeling woman, by whom she was received 
with scarce the forms or affectation of hospitality. It 
was there her unexpected lot to perform the last offices 
of tenderness in the sick-room of an interesting girl, 
some years older than herself, labouring under a tedious 
disorder, which had at length been pronounced incurable. 
This poor girl, an orphan, named Mary Talbot, was not a 
temporary intruder, like Emily ; it was her severer fate to 
drink the cup of absolute dependency, and she had now 
nearly drained it to the lees. 

It was just at the time of Emily's arrival that, such 
medical skill as had been employed had pronounced the 
case hopeless, and unremitting attention to the patient 
having been strictly enjoined, Miss Ealcon found herself 
required, partly by her inhuman relative, but more by the 
dictates of that humanity of which her relative had none, 
to discharge the anxious and unceasing duties of a nurse- 
tender, before she had once bounded on those heathered 
hills with whose charms magic poetry, and still more 
enchanting prose, had so inflamed her. But she could 
not have set out on the most ravishing excursion in the 
Highlands with half the heart with which she undertook 
the agonising office of tending the dying girl. It was a 
period of gloom, anxiety, and sorrow ; but the very agony 
and hopelessness of her duties heightened their interest, 
and she grew every day more and more devoted to the 
perishing object of her care. The casement of the apart- 
ment, when her pale and tremulous hand withdrew a 


curtain, opened upon scenery the most picturesque in the 
Perthshire mountains ; there would Emily sit and record 
to her fading listener the varying glories of the landscape, 
as the motion of the sun, the passing of the clouds, or the 
dispersion of a mist before the breeze, diversified its 
splendid features. Thus there grew that harmony be- 
tween them that springs from a common worship of 
nature, a common gift of understanding her language, 
and sucking sweet divinity from her flowers. There is, 
perhaps, no other bond save that of love that knits human 
hearts so close ; and love itself is often born of this sym- 
pathy, and always ennobled and strengthened by it. But 
sad is the friendship contracted at the grave-side — an 
union to be severed as soon as formed — a seed-time to be 
followed by no harvest. 

It was spring when the gentle Emily first sat by that 
high window, marking and describing every mountain- 
change — the historian of tints, and the chronicler of 
clouds. The year advanced, ripening the hues of the 
flowers and swelling the foliage of the woods, until the 
fulness came of summer-time, Avhen the sun stands still to 
glory in his works, and contemplate young autumn bursting 
from the beauty-teeming womb of beauty. Ah ! within 
that chamber, how different was the law of change ! There 
was nature exhibiting the sad phenomena of decay, the 
fading tint, the daily -wasting form, the eye growing dim, 
the cheek hollow, — a spectacle old as the world ; a sight 
to be seen in every street, in every house ; but one to 
which humanity will never be inured, which will ever be 
contemplated with fresh agony and new horror. Emily 
had scarce even heard before of death, and now the grim 


shadow, mightier than all substances, sat almost palpable 
on the other side of the couch, mocking her anxieties, 
scoffing at her useless toils. Autumn, too, began to pass 
away, and then nature seemed to be working within and 
without on the same destroying principle ; the season 
sympathised with the languishing frame and the paling 
countenance ; and Emily loved October more than June, 
for the declining month seemed to feel for her patient, and 
to be pining with her. 

Still the vespers of late autumn, when the leaves are 
sere and yellow, are charming in the Scottish Highlands ; 
and especially picturesque, when the full-moon pours a 
tide of silver or golden light upon the mountain-tops, or 
down into the deep valleys. On one memorable evening 
of this lovely character, Emily occupied her accustomed 
seat of observation, conversing in a dove-like murmur with 
the sick girl, who occasionally made a remark in her faint 
voice, or asked a question. She was so placed as to see 
the summits of the opposite hills, which were now mingled 
with fantastic piles of vapour, forming together one huge 
castellated structure, of which the purple sides of the 
mountain were the walls, and the clouds the battlements 
and towers. The scene melted away, and the broad disc 
of the moon was revealed, just risen behind a grove of larch 
that crested the hill, with their tops now bathed in light. 
The living and the dying both rejoiced in silence, behold- 
ing the sacred beauty of the scene. The planet mounted 
the sky in her solemn state, like a vestal going up the hill 
of the Capitol to worship, and soon she was to be seen 
from the couch no longer. 

" I see her no more," said the wasting girl. 



" I shall soon lose her, too," said Emily. 
" You will often see her again," replied Mary. 
""We shall often see her together, dearest," said her 
tender nurse, in her cheeriest strain. 

" Ah ! no, my good Emily ; I shall soon be beyond even 
her sphere. But tell me, have her beams fallen upon the 
ruined castle ?" 

Emily looked, and answered that they had ; then she 
painted the effect of the pale light upon the grey fragment 
of the antique building, which stood boldly upon a rocky 
platform, half-way up an eminence to the right, between 
two tufts of wood, which seemed detached from the 
general plantation to frame the picture of the ruin. 
" That ruin always interests you, Mary." 
" It reminds me of one with which I was familiar in 

" You are not Irish ?" said Emily, inquiringly. 
"Half Irish," said Mary; "my mother was Irish. I 
love Ireland, and call it my country. There alone do I 
possess a friend." Emily flew to the speaker's side; they 
were both in tears. 

" Say not so, dear Mary !" 

" Eorgive me, Miss Ealcon — forgive me, Emily — you 
are good to me, divinely good ; but why should you love 
me ? — why should I expect it ?" 

" Oh! I should be a monster not to love you!" cried 
Emily ; " you are good — you are true — you love those 
mountains and the moon as I do — you are unfortunate — 
you are sick. Oh ! what would I be if I did not love you 
with all my heart ?" 

Mary threw her arms about Emily's neck; wept in 


silence ; then sank back exhausted by the burst of feeling. 
There was a pause, a mutual wiping of tears, and an inter- 
change of smiles and murmurs more than supplied the 
place of words. The patient was the first to renew the 
dialogue ; she said, in a tone scarcely audible, 

" Under that sweet sky, I have none but you now to 
care for me." 

" I know you are an orphan," said Emily; "but you 
spoke just now of a friend you bad in Ireland." 

"A friend of my mother's ; — what would I not give to 
see him once more." 

" Does he know of your illness ?" 

'•' Some time ago I wrote to him. He could not have 
been in Ireland, or he would have been at my side ere this." 
" Trust me, he will come ; but you must now repose ; I 
fear you have been excited over much." But the days 
and the nights passed, and Mary Talbot's Irish friend 
failed to verify Emily's prediction. They passed amongst 
the sad details of medicine that hoped not to cure, and 
all the harrowing incidents of a fruitless struggle with 

With soft hand on the pillow, velvet foot on the floor, 
and warbling voice in the ear, Emily discharged to the last 
her amiable ministry; and when at length came the in- 
evitable hour, she felt that she was released from afflicting 
duties, but that she had lost a beloved friend. They had 
been conversing together (as they now frequently did) on 
the subject of Ireland ; and Mary Talbot had been speak- 
ing of its beauties, and again repeated that she loved it as 
her country. Emily said she should be always interested 
in Ireland for her friend's sake. 



The voice of the sick girl now grew fainter, but still 
she spoke. She seemed to speak of feelings against Ire- 
land, and prejudices against the Catholic religion, by 
which she herself or her mother (it was uncertain which) 
had been sufferers ; and at the same time she placed her 
pale hand upon a bible that lay upon the couch, as if she 
meant to intimate a meek opinion that the feelings she 
alluded to were not in harmony with the precepts of the 
sacred volume. She then appeared to sleep, and Emily 
sat by her side in silence ; — but she had conversed with 
Mary Talbot for the last time. 

Her remains were deposited beneath the turf upon the 
side of the mountain, in an old churchyard, not far from 
the grey ruin which was one of her latest objects of 
interest. On the second day after her interment, a grave, 
elderly man, habited in black, arrived in the neighbour- 
hood and made inquiries, by the replies to which he was 
painfully affected : he turned abruptly away, and walked 
towards the cemetery upon the hill. He entered, and at 
the side of a new-raised monument of the green sod he 
saw a young and lovely girl kneeling, her hands full of 
autumnal flowers, her hair streaming on her shoulders, 
and " now and then an ample tear trilling down her deli- 
cate cheek." As he gazed, she strewed her floral offerings 
on the grave, and looked up to Heaven, as if she dreamed 
that the odour of her gifts would go up there, too, and 
mix with that of the everlasting flowers. When she rose 
to depart, the grave gentleman confronted her, and the 
tears in his eyes rendered introduction superfluous. But 
few words were interchanged. The stranger sought the 
minister of the parish, and Emily returned to a house 


that she abhorred. But her deliverance came speedily : 
her Irish acquaintance visited her the following day, 
learned from her own lips everything but her own suffer- 
ings and devotion, and gathering her anxiety to return to 
her parents, he proffered his services to conduct her to 
Liverpool, and never was an offer more cheerfully ac- 

The parting from her relation was in keeping with the 
previous conduct of that heartless woman. She dismissed 
the lovely and tender girl with an embrace without love, 
and a gift without affection. Emily endured the former ; 
but as she crossed a rude bridge that spanned a torrent 
at a short distance from the house of the heartless, she 
flung the odious present into the stream. It sank glit- 
tering into the pool, not unmarked by her sedate compa- 
nion, who seemed unobservant of the action, but quickly 
divined its motive and its spirit. 


" Discourse with her, and prove her faculties ; 
You'll find her ardent, true, sincere, and spiritual, 
Sometimes fantastic, never frivolous. 
A noble fault it is to soar too high ; 
A venial crime to be too little earthly." 

Woman's Ways. 


Anxious on the subject of Irish hospitalities, and 
always attentive to the business of the commissariat, 
Mrs. Falcon had invited Moore to visit her. He pro- 



mised to do so, and as it was a promise to do an agreeable 
thing, he kept it honourably "When he called, however, 
the gipsy was abroad, foraging or manoeuvring ; but Mr. 
Falcon met him at the door, and at his request he entered, 
and found Emily engaged at some feminine employment, 
and happy to renew her acquaintance with the lively and 
well-informed Irishman. Falcon took up a Hebrew 
grammar, and absconded to a corner in his usual abstract 
way, all his soul for the moment taken up with alcpb, 
beth, and gimel. 

Emily and Moore were thus left to converse together, 
and the former availed herself of the opportunity to 
inform herself upon many little points upon which she 
was curious. She wished, for instance, to know what the 
Sttn-buest was, of which she found such frequent men- 
tion in modern Irish minstrelsy. Moore informed her 
that it was the Labarum, or Oriflamme of ancient 
Ireland, — the banner called in Irish Gall- Grenct, or the 
standard of the sun, under which the national force, 
called the Fianna Eireanne, never took the field but to 

" The first time I myself ever heard of the Sun-burst," 
said Dominick, " for I am no great Celtic antiquary, was 
from my friend Mac Morris one night exclaiming in his 
sleep, that he would unfurl it to the wind upon Tara-hill, 
and summon all the chivalry of Ireland to assemble round 
it. My friend is a little wild at times, particularly in his 

" Is not wildness one of the characters of greatness ?" 
asked Emily, with a timidity caused by the very boldness 
of the thought she expressed. 


" I distinguish," said Moore, " between wildness and 
courage — the difference is the same as between chivalry 
and Quixotism. Mac Morris would encounter a real foe 
as gallantly as any man, but then returning from the 
field, he would be equally ready to tilt with the first 
windmill he met. However, I would readily pardon a 
romantic soldier ; my objection, Miss Falcon, is to a poli- 
tical knight-errant." 

" How does it happen that you and Mr. Mac Morris 
differ so much in politics, such intimate friends as you 
are ?" 

" I am not so fanciful as he is, and I have not got so 
retentive a memory by many degrees." 

" I don't understand you," said Emily. 

" I am apter than Mac Morris to forget the past, and 
my policy is rather to employ the present than to dream 
of the future. There are but two of the mental faculties 
exercised at present in Ireland — the memory and the 
imagination. Those who are not occupied with the irre- 
mediable past are equally busy with an unattainable 
future. The country is divided between the subjects of 
King Dathi, and those of Queen Mab. jNTow, I am 
neither an antiquary nor a poet in my politics ; my friend 
Tigernach is both. He passes his days in Celtic recol- 
lections, and his nights in Celtic dreams. He is so indus- 
trious a visionary that I call him an Active-Supine." 

" How can intellectual activity be properly termed 
indolence, Mr. Moore ?" 

" The fat bard in the Castle of Indolence is all activity 
in the shadowy world where he dwells. 



' Ten thousand glorious systems would he build, 
Ten thousand great ideas filled his mind. 3 " 

"But why should memory be a fault in a politician?" 

Moore smiled, and proceeded to explain his meaning. 

" Don't understand me to condemn the study of history, 
or undervalue its use. But history is abused when it is 
cultivated with a vindictive spirit to stimulate the pas- 
sions, not to direct the judgment ; when its records are 
searched for precedents of violence and folly ; when we 
refer to its fountains, not to water the flowers of peace, 
but to revive the drooping weeds of bigotry and strife. 
I would resort to the books of profane, as to those of 
sacred history, for light, Miss Falcon, not fovjlre." 

"But the wrongs of your country, sir — " said Emily, 
and suddenly paused, embarrassed by the thought that 
there was something almost amounting to absurdity in 
the part she was taking in this unexpected discussion. 

Moore was not slow to perceive what was passing in 
her mind, and said, with gaiety : " Now is not this a droll 
position ? Here am I checking the Celtic ardour of a 
Saxon lady ; — at the same time," he added, " I must admit 
that her wild Irish feeling sits gracefully on her ; — the 
wrongs of Ireland have indeed been grievous, and well 
may excite a woman's sympathy." 

A slight blush at this just compliment tinged the cheek 
of the fair girl as she replied : " Then why are you not 
more tolerant of those whose only fault is too much en- 
thusiasm in the cause of their country ?" 

" Do not mistake the censure of extravagance for disap- 
proval of patriotic spirit. That spirit would be more 
powerful if it were better disciplined, and more sober. 


Beal grievances do not require to be eked out with, ima- 
ginary ones ; the wrongs of the present day do not need 
reinforcement from the injuries of bygone centuries. I'll 
tell you the story of the hawk of Kildare. Tou have heard 
of our round towers — well, there is one at Kildare, a place 
of ancient sanctity, patronised by the fair St. Bridget, 
who dwelt there under the shadow of a great oak, from 
which the name of Kildare is taken ; it means the Cell of 
the Oak. The saint had -a hawk, a wild favourite for a 
godly lady, but she loved it, and it survived her death for 
centuries, nestling still in the summit of the sacred tower, 
only taking one ) r early excursion in Spring to keep up its 
spiritual acquaintance with St. Kelvin's hawks at Glenda- 
lough. The bird, as you may suppose, was venerated and 
cherished, and its offences winked at, when it stooped on 
the Kildare chickens, or pounced upon a secular duckling. 
It nourished in the pride of place until the coming of 
Prince John to Ireland, or rather up to the day of his 
departure, for on that day, a miscreant of the royal train 
(Norman or Saxon is not recorded) flung a staff or a stone 
at the bird, and it fell dead at the base of the round tower. 
Now Young Ireland is capable of declaring war with 
England, and assigning the death of St. Bridget's hawk 
in the days of King John, as a valid reason for drawing 
the sword in the reign of Queen Victoria !" 

" Going pretty far back for a grievance, I must own," 
said Emily, smiling. 

"Like Mahomet the Second," added Moore, "who 
wrote a letter to Pope Pius, in which he urged the Italians, 
on the ground of their Trojan origin, to join him against 
the Greeks to revenge the death of Hector. Or like the 



Sultan of Egypt, who plundered the Jews by way of re- 
prisals for the jewels of gold and silver which their fore* 
fathers borrowed from the subjects of Pharaoh," 


" I require first, 
In civil manners that you grant my will 
In all things whatsoever, and that will 
To be obey'd, not argued. This subscribed to, 
And you continuing an obedient husband, 
Upon all fit occasions you shall find me 
A most indulgent wife." 



Two or three days elapsed before Falcon could obtain 
five minutes' audience of his queen-consort, to bring the 
question of the Irish expedition to a final issue ; so much 
business of all sorts had her imperious highness on her- 
hands, so many petty interests had she to conciliate, so. 
many small objects to secure, so many little points to- 
carry. At length, however, there occurred one of what 
she called her "delicious domestic evenings." Deli- 
cious as she pronounced such evenings, she omitted no- 
precaution to make them as few as possible. Perhaps the 
bliss she enjoyed upon those occasions was so intense as- 
to be allied to pain; perhaps. with, that Christian spirit; 


which pervaded her entire life, as a silken string runs 
through a chain of pearls, she only valued pleasure as an 
opportunity for self-denial and mortification. In point of 
fact, the present " delicious evening" was owing to the 
failure of a Machiavellian move to secure a dinner with 
the Shycocks, of St. John's "Wood; the gipsy's three- 
cornered protocol suggesting that desirable arrangement 
having been promptly answered with a diplomatic note, 
triangular also, politely demurring to the dinner, but 
hinting that a convention of the high contracting parties 
might be desirable at some future period, hereafter to be 
specified, upon the simpler basis of a " the clamant.'" 
Now Mrs. Falcon detested thes of every kind, with all 
the force of her vigorous character ; she declared that an 
invitation to tea was just what she expected from the Shy- 
cocks, and that tea would be still the same shabby meal it 
always was, even were it made by Cerito, and poured out 
by Taglioni. Besides, the notion of the Shycocks giving 
a the dansant ! — St. John's Wood aping Holderness 
House ! The gipsy's position in life, by birth connected 
with the upper, and by policy with the middle, classes, 
gave her an insight into the follies of both ; she had a 
strong democratic sense of the extravagances of May 
Pair, and an equally keen aristocratic perception of the 
airs and affectations of Marylebone. 

However, it was only in the foreign department that 
Mrs. Falcon held a the so very cheap ; for, in her adminis- 
tration of the home-office, it was a point of considerable 
importance, and she frequently made it a the dinatoire, 
which is decidedly a better thing than a the dansant. 


On the present evening there had been a the of the 
former description, — a motley meal between cutlets and 
congo, the tea-cup and the tankard. The feast was over, 
— Master "Willy Falcon had gone to his repose, — a step 
by which the peace of the realm was considerably pro- 
moted. The gipsy sat down to revise her list of useful 
people and accessible houses, of which she kept an exact 
registry in a little blue book, the contents of which will 
vastly amuse the world if they ever come to be published. 
Lucy Falcon was absent, improving herself in drawing at 
Mr. Puddicome's, under the tuition of Miss Tynte, to 
whose teaching she did considerably more credit than the 
young ladies who were formally and financially her pupils. 
Emily was buried in the pages of a work refulgent in 
green and gold, a present from Mr. Primer the bookseller, 
consisting of Toung Ireland melodies, or " Groans of the 
Nation." And the amiable father of the family, having 
just completed a magnetic duck for his hopeful son, 
was applying his talents to gratify the military tastes 
of the small Puddicomes with a battalion of card sol- 

"And now pray, Mr. Falcon," said the gipsy, after 
degrading the Shycocks from the column of the "usefuls" 
into that of the " shabbies," "what is this Irish appoint- 
ment that you have got, now that I have time to talk to 


" Secretary, my dear, to the Irish Branch Society for 
the Conversion of the Polish Jews. I have been studying 
Hebrew," replied Falcon, with vivacity, dropping a card 
which was just beginning to take the form of a sergeant- 


" Polish Jews !" exclaimed his wife, throwing herself 
back in her chair, and closing the blue book ; " and what 
do you know about Jews ? The notion of your converting 
Sir Moses Montefiore, or Baron Eothschild! Convert 
them to what, pray ?" 

"My dear, to Christianity, of course." 

" Christianity !— and what do you know about Chris- 
tianity ?" — Mr. Falcon ought to have known a great deal 
about Christianity, for he had been, amongst the other 
vicissitudes of his life, a temporary member of most of the 
thousand-and-one sects into which the religious world ia 
divided; the same rambling propensities which marked 
his character as a secular personage, having influenced his 
spiritual estates also, and led him to box the compass of 
conventicles and churches. He had been a Trinitarian 
and a Unitarian, in his day ; he had been a Baptist for a 
month, an Anabaptist for a fortnight, and an Antipcedo- 
baptist for three days. The Moravians had once seduced 
him with their love-feasts ; but, perhaps, their banquets 
were not as substantial as he had reckoned on, for he soon 
became enamoured of Quakerly simplicity, and purchased 
a brown coat ; on which, before the moon filled her horns, 
he superinduced gilt buttons, having returned in a fit of 
orthodoxy to the bosom of mother church, where he 
nestled comfortably for a season, until a casual visit to 
North "Wales revived his desultory tendencies, and made 
him as nimble a Jumper as any Williams, Jones, or Ap- 
Griffifth in the principality. These, too, were but a few 
of his wanderings in the wide field of religious doctrine. 
No wonder, then, that he should think it a little hard that 
Mrs. Falcon should say — " What do you know about 


Christianity ?" At all events, the meekness of his reply 
proved his practical acquaintance with the subject, for 
instead of making a sharp rejoinder to a remark which 
must have hurt him, he patiently recalled his wife's atten- 
tion to the various agremens of the post in question. 
" One hundred and fifty pounds a year, apartments, coals, 
candles, stationery, and patronage ; the advowson of a 
clerkship worth half a guinea per week ; and the right of 
presentation to the office of housemaid, on the first 

" Stationary, indeed ! — you stationary ! For my part, 
I don't expect ever to be stationary ! Tou lead me the 
life of a strolling beggar. Is the situation permanent ?" 

" I presume so," replied Mr. Falcon, who had never 
dreamed of making the inquiry, perhaps having rather a 
preference for engagements of a fleeting nature. 

" How many Jews are there in Poland ?" 

" Indeed, my dear, I can't exactly answer the question ; 
but do you think it signifies ?" 

" Do I think it signifies ? — of course I do. The per* 
manence of the place depends upon it ; the more Jews 
there are, the longer time it will take to convert them." 

" Oh ! my love, don't alarm yourself about that point ; 
I have had a letter from my friend, Mr. Scatterseed, to 
whose kindness I am indebted for this offer, and he says 
there's nothing doing in Jews at present; there has not 
been a conversion for the last ten or a dozen years, at 
least, in Poland. In fact, my dear, there is absolutely 
nothing do do." 

" Oh — that alters the matter — it's a gentlemanlike situ- 
ation, then. "Well, really, putting everything together, 
salary, house, coals, candles, no duty, and the tout en- 


semole—-" Falcon thought tout ensemble was French for 

" Putting everything together — " 

" Besides, my dear, I am engaged to write my Travels 
in Ireland, Loiterings in Leinster, and a Canter through 

" Nonsense, Mr. Falcon ! you never could ride — the 
idea oiyou cantering through Connaught!" 

" Mamma," said Emily, " Mr. Moore said there were 
such nice small horses in the West of Ireland, called 
hobbies ; papa would manage them very nicely." 

" Tes, I dare say he would make a figure upon a hobby," 
said the gipsy, who, although she had, au fond, a due con- 
jugal attachment for her husband, was apt occasionally to 
affect something like scorn of bis personal qualities, a 
common practice with handsome women of masculine 
character united to men who chance to be their inferiors 
in spirit and energy. 

" Well, my dear," said her titular lord and master, " you 
agree, then, to go to Ireland. I may finally accept the 

" You may — what I propose is this — indeed, it is my 
decision — do you go to Ireland at once — if I like your 
account of the Dublin people, I shall follow you; re- 
member, I'm not very fond of official residences, so if 
ours is not comfortable and handsome, I won't set my 
foot in it ; I'll take Mr. Moore's hint, and go about from 
house to house. I forget what they call the custom, but 
I was charmed with Mr. Moore's account of it.* Now, 
go to bed, Emily dear — go to bed, Mr. Falcon." 

* The gipsy alludes to the jolly practice of " cosJiermgs" de- 
scribed by Sir John Davis as " visitations and progresses made by 


" My dear, I am making a regiment of horse-artillery 
for the little, — now do not put out the 

" Indeed I will ; do you want to burn the house down 
with your horse-artillery, as you always do ?" 

" Now, my dear, I never burned a house but once in 
my life, and that was making fireworks to celebrate our 
wedding-day, when we lived at Southampton. It was 
not my fault if Sir John Drake had not his property 
insured, and, at all events, I wrote him a very pathetic 

" "Well, I know it was one of the best houses at that 
time on our list," said the gipsy, using the extinguisher 
inexorably ; and I had to jump out of a window to save 
my life." 

" Tou remember I wanted you to jump into my arms." 

"Into your arms!" repeated the portly matron, with 
much more playfulness, however, than contempt in her 
tone, and none of the latter expression at all in her look, 
as she contrasted her own flourishing and massive person 
with her consort's meagre frame, and with good-humoured 
determination put out the second candle, having pre- 
viously kindled the lesser light destined to conduct the 
oddly-matched yet not ill-yoked pair to their matrimonial 

the chiefs, with their ladies and retainers, amongst their tenants, 
wherein the chief did eat them (as the English proverb is) out of 
house and home" This free and easj custom corresponded in 
peace with that of coigne and livery in war ; but in truth war and 
peace were as like as twins in the glorious days of old, for which 
statesboys pine and the Celtic harp " sighs like a furnace." 



" Oh, happy child ! 
Thou art so exquisitely wild. 
I think of thee with many fears, 
Of what may be thy lot in future years." 


tigernach returns from salisbury — stonehenge discovered 
to be the property op ireland — how it was stolen prom 
the curragh op kildare, and by whom — young ireland re- 
solves to retake stonehenge — the instalment principle 
repudiated — difference between dreams and visions- — 
moore's project op a counter-agitation in Ireland — rea- 

" Returned from Salisbury ?" cried Moore to Mac 
Morris, as the latter stalked into Mr. Bornpas's chambers 
on the third day after the dinner-party in Bryanston- 
square, every detail of his dress exhibiting a true Jaco- 
binical Contempt for order. 

" This moment returned," answered Mac Morris, shaking 
the Saxon dust from his Celtic curls. 

" Seen Stonehenge ?" asked Moore, at random. 

"I went down for that purpose." 

"Oh! a sudden paroxysm of antiquarian curiosity! — 
' Curias incomptis capillis,' — the pun is irresistible, seeing 
the disorganised state of your tresses. But Stonehenge, I 
believe, is interesting." 


" I am happy that at length you have found something 
English to admire." 

" Stonehenge is not English," said Mac Morris, drily, 
arranging his hair, as he spoke, in a triangular fragment 
of looking-glass, which had the advantage over a common 


mirror of possessing the property of refracting light in as 
high a degree as the power of reflecting it. 

" Stonehenge not English !" repeated Moore. " What 
do you mean?" 

"It is ours!" said Mac Morris, in his coolest way of 
advancing the most daring propositions. 

" Ours ! I don't understand you— the work of Irish 
Druids, I suppose?" 

" Not at all. Ours, I mean, as the round towers are 
ours — as St. Patrick's Purgatory is ours — as much as the 
Hill of Howth or the Eock of Cashel is ours." Dominick 
looked at his Celtic friend with a twinkling eye, and a 
gentle biting of his under-lip ; as men look at their com- 
panions mounting their hobbies or hippogriffs. 

Tigernach continued — " You know, Moore, I am fear- 
less of ridicule: it is the test of truth." 

" Prom which you infer, I presume," answered Moore, 
" that the more a proposition is ridiculous, the more it 
should command my respectful attention. But tell me 
your tale of Stonehenge — I shall listen with becoming 

" There is nothing new in the tale of Stonehenge ; you 
will find it in Campion's ' Historie,' and more in detail in 
Dr. Hanmer's Chronicle. Aurelius Ambrosius, King of 
Britain, at the head of a gang of English adventurers, 
stole the monument from the Curragh of Kildare, and 
pitched it in Salisbury Plain." 

" They were lusty robbers. What was the King of 
Leinster about ? — why did not the Lagenians defend 
their monuments ?"* 

* The people of Leinster were anciently called Lagenians. 


" The English were aided by enchantment ; the expe- 
dition was advised by Merlin, the famous wizard." 

" Wo wonder they stole our parliament, Mac Morris, 
when we could not even keep our Stonehenge — the stones 
are enormous, are they not r" 
"They are." 

" Eeally, Mac Morris, I should think that the less we 
say about the loss of Stonehenge the better for our re- 
putation ; people will not believe in magic in these days ; 
so the story, if true, will only prove what thews and 
sinews the subjects of King Ambrosius had, and what 
poltroons our countrymen were at the period of the great 
larceny in question, far greater than that of the church 
bells of Xotre-Dame by Gargantua the Great. Tou must 
have felt mortified and ashamed as you surveyed the huge 
memorials of our national pusillanimity." 

" True ! I felt as I feel when I contemplate the union." 
"Yes, but you say the union can be repealed !" 
" Ay ! — and I say, too, that Stonehenge can be, and 
shall be, retaken." 

" Stonehenge ! — retaken ! "What if the Saxons should 
defend their spoil better than the Irish defended their 
property ? Do you depend on magic ?" 

" On the magic of youth and determination." 
" But you will first make your demand." 
" It shall be my first step in the Hall of Clamour." 
" And a pas de geant it will be ; you will be considered 
as great a wizard as Merlin himself. How fortunate that 
O'Connell never thought of the Stonehenge question! 
He fancies he has left no stone unturned, and he has left 
the biggest of all for you— the stones of Salisbury Plain." 



" If the thought had occurred to O'Connell, he would 
take it by instalments at the rate of a stone in a century. 
Toung Ireland repudiates that base principle. What do 
you think of my first step ?" 

"Why, man, it's not a step, it's a flight — the flightiest 
step you could possibly take ; it will make you facile 
princeps of the Statesboys of Ireland." 

" Tou use the phrase in banter, but it is a good one, 
and has a serious and solemn meaning. The age of states- 
men is past — the great truth has gone abroad through all 
the earth in the oracular words of Disraeli, ' It is a 
glorious thing for a nation to be saved by its youth.' " 

" I have already named you the Coningsby of your 

" Old Ireland is dreaming dreams, instead of — " 

" Seeing visions like Toung Ireland. I remember Bacon 
quotes the text to prove that the imagination of youth is 
more vivid than that of age, as a vision is brighter than a 

" Every substantial glory was once but a glorious imagi- 
nation. The romance of history precedes its reality, and 
the most solid political advantages were begotten in pro- 
phetic raptures." 

" Talking of realities, while you were flirting with charm- 
ing fancies in the country, I was enjoying the society of 
lovely women in town, one of them a particularly sub- 
stantial beauty." And Moore gave his friend an account 
of the dinner at Bompas's, and painted Mrs. Ealcon and 
her daughters in such delicious colours, that Mac Morris 
wished for an instant (though he made no such admission) 


that he had reconciled his visit to Stonehenge with the 
acceptance of the Saxon invitation. 

" And one of the girls, Tierna, was as romantic as she 
was pretty, and as Irish as she was romantic," continued 

" Irish ! — the name is not Irish — there is nothing Irish 
without a Mac or an 0." 

" Irish, I mean, in her Irish sympathies, in the interest 
she takes in Ireland. The Geraldines were not Irish 
originally, yet they became Hibernicis Hibemiores, more 
Irish than the Irish themselves." 

" More than the Saxon spite I detest Saxon sympathy. 
They are never so intolerable as when their insolence 
takes the shape of interest in our welfare. To hear their 
expressions of contemptuous pity ! Poor Ireland ! — what 
has made us poor but Saxon plunder? Unfortunate 
Ireland ! — what misfortune have we ever known but the 
curse of their acquaintance and connexion ?" 

" Say what you will of the nation, but I cannot under- 
stand how either the acquaintance or the alliance of an 
amiable and lovely daughter of England could be a curse 
to any one. It is my deliberate opinion that one of the 
young women I met last night would agitate Ireland to 
the heart's core, spite of all the Celtic antipathies which 
you and your friends take so much pains to cherish. 
Happily for myself, I am the most unloving and most 
unmarrying of men ; but you could as easily resist Circe 
and the Syrens ; — I know your temperament and your 
taste. The blue lightning of Miss Falcon's eye, and the 
sweet thunder of her powerful and delicious voice (for 


she is more a nightingale than a falcon), would infallibly 
agitate the agitator, llabet sua fulmina Juno." 

"Young Ireland is made of sterner stuff." 

" Ah, Tierna, ambition before love is not the natural 
order of the passions ; — you might as well think of be- 
ginning with avarice — commencing a Harpagon, and 
ending a Lothario." 

" I start for Ireland next week : join me in Gralway 
after the recess, and I'll show you women worthy of the 
admiration of a man — beauty for the eye, and music for 
the ear, Dominick." 

" Wo, — I shall not go to Galway, to be burked by 
the Burkes, lynched by the Lynches, and bored by the 

" Moore, you have no relish for the beauties of Celtic 
nature ?" 

" Is nature a Celt ?" 

" I confess I never stand upon my paterual mountains 
— carpeted, by the gorse and heath, with gold and purple 
— but I think so. I ask myself, is not this a Celtic 
grandeur? I consider myself the porphyro-genitus of 
Celtic royalty. But, Moore, you have neither a Celtic 
eye for mountains, a Celtic ear for music, nor the true 
Celtic gust for either sublimity or beauty." 

" In beauty I confess myself a citizen of the world, 
with a cosmopolitan eye for fair Saxons, charming French, 
sunny Italians, glowing Spaniards, dark Greeks, — the 
bright and lovely of all climes and colours, by whatever 
sun they may be bleached, rouged, bronzed, or browned. 
As to mountains, I like them, too, in time and place ; and 
I like the mountain-nymph also, like a true whig, — when 


she is not the French Oread, worshipped by St. Just in 
France and Mac Morris in Ireland." 

" "Well, we shall make a mountain-party for you with- 
out politics." 

" Yes, and let there he abundance of the true party- 
spirit for the mountains, which I take to be good cham- 
pagne, — in that case, if you get the windows of your 
paternal mansion glazed, I shall consider the expediency 
of paying you a visit in the first summer vacation after 
the retaking of Stonehenge." 


" The first man 13 the first spirit-seer ; all appears to him as 
spirit. What are children but first-men ? The fresh gaze of the 
child is richer in significance than the forecasting of the most 
indubitable seer." Kovalis. 


To understand the position of the young Mac Morris, 
it is necessary now to glance at the state of affairs in the 
capital of Ireland, anciently called Dyvelin, possibly to 
commemorate the important share which the author of 
evil has had for so many centuries in the concerns of that 
part of the empire. 

The Young Ireland regime had commenced, and things 
were going at a pace to satisfy the greenest Irishman, 




and in a spirit to content the -wildest Celt. Old Campion, 
who has graduated the orders of aboriginal Irish fierceness 
" mere Irish, wilde Irish, very wilde Irish, and extreme 
wilde Irish," would have found it difficult to discover a 
. form of superlative to express the degree of Irish savagery 
which was now the fashion, or the rage. Young Ireland 
consisted of some half-dozen shoots of prodigious verdure, 
which had recently started from the aged trunk of agita- 
tion, like fresh sprouts from a veteran cabbage-stock. 
O'Connell was considered as fallen politically, even more 
than physically, into the sere and yellow leaf ; and, 
indeed, the foliage of the parent tree looked marvellously 
pale and sickly, contrasted with the green of the under- 
wood that sprang daily from its roots. William of New- 
bridge relates in his history of Britain, that in the reign 
of King Stephen, a pair of green children — toto corpore 
vi rides — green from head to foot, fell from heaven in East 
Anglia, near the monastery of St. Edmund the Martyr.* 
There was ground to think that a similar miracle in a 
political sense, and upon a larger scale, had been wrought 
in Ireland at the period of our narrative ; so profusely 
were the views and opinions, the designs and under- 
takings of an ambitious boy-ocracy, dyed with the in- 
tensest tint of the national colour. It was the day of 
green opinions, green sentiments, green principles, and 
green doings. Green writers wrote green books, with 
green goose-quills ; and green politicians, in green coats, 
made green speeches on green hills, about green Ireland 

* Cap. xxvii. The old chronicler hesitates to record the story, 
bat he tells us that he is " overwhelmed by the weight of testi- 
mony," and his scruples yield to his sense of duty. 


and College Green. He that, like Harry the Fifth, 
"could not look greenly and gasp out his eloquence," 
was a nonentity ; while he who, like Michael Cassio, 
" had all those requisites in him that folly and green 
minds look after," enjoyed the pre-eminence due to his 
venerable youth and verdant qualifications. In a green 
party it was but natural that he whose years were 
greenest should command the most respect ; and it was 
this that made Tigernach Mac Morris the natural leader 
of the young patriots of Ireland. In his absence they 
had chosen him their captain ; and their counsels were 
directed by his temerity and extravagance, even before 
the time came when he was personally to preside over 
their frantic deliberations. Already they had written 
and raved enough to frighten anv decent island from 
her propriety. Scarcely did they commence their me- 
teoric career, before they left Old Ireland a thousand 
miles behind. His giantship of Derrynane roared for his 
seven-leagued boots to follow them ; but he might as well 
have attempted to keep pace with a troop of wild horses 
in the Pampas, or overtake the train of the spectre- 
huntsman. The chariot in which they took their des- 
perate drive, was his ; but it was horsed with coursers of 
their own mad breeding ; and when the old coachman 
would have put on the drag, they spurned him from the 
wheel, and dashed, with a Scythian yell and an Irish 
hubbub, across the frontier of common sense into the 
country of chimeras, where they had many a good day's 
shadow-hunting, to the dismay of all steady sportsmen, 
but to the infinite delight of the jockeys of Laputa. 
With indefatigable industry were the records of the past 



ransacked to revive obsolete feelings, and awaken acri- 
monious recollections. To the most luminous horror of 
the antipathies of creed, they added the most unen- 
lightened devotion to the prejudices of race. To hound 
Protestant against Catholic, was intolerable bigotry ; but 
to cheer on the Celt against the Saxon, was the spirit of 
liberty and the very soul of patriotism. To love Ireland 
and to hate England, were but two phrases for one 
duty ; and to inculcate this beautiful morality, history 
was racked for tales of oppression ; eloquence was abused, 
and even the sacred gift of poetry profaned. Nothing 
was to be forgotten, nothing pardoned ; there was to be 
no absolution for state offences, no amnesty of public 
wrongs. As if there were not bones of contention only 
too many on the surface of affairs, Young Ireland must 
excavate the deepest strata of bygone centuries for the 
fossil remains of grievances. No doubt the political 
geologist found such relics abundant in his quarryings ; 
the mammoths and megatheria of British misgovernment, 
are scattered thick in the seams of Irish history, and the 
vindictive antiquary may enjoy a perpetual feast ; but if 
such a taste is healthy and legitimate, what political con- 
nexions can be lasting — what brethren can dwell together 
in unity ? If to allow one sun to go down upon our 
wrath be repugnant to the law of Christian charity, what 
shall be said of those upon whose implacable resentments 
the suns of centuries have set, and who declare that till 
the end of time the "god of gladness" shall never rise 
upon feuds extinguished and nations reconciled ? It is 
for Heaven, not for man, to " visit the father's sins upon 
the children ;" and it ia as true, with respect to the ills 


of the past, which are not to be repaired, ss of the ills of 
the future, -which may never be realised, that " sufficient 
to the day is the evil thereof." 

But to another effect was the popular preaching of the 
day. Such was not the moralising in the columns of the 
"Sun-burst," the weekly organ of Toung Ireland opi- 
nions ; such were not the doctrines promulgated in the 
Hall of Clamour, where the knot of young Septembrizers 
formed a mimic mountain ; and when the hundred bards 
struck their Celtic harps, and raised the voice of song, 
such was not the burden of the minstrelsy. 

In fact, a Celtic revolution was the project or the 
dream. The most preposterous claims were set up to 
antiquit}', brilliant in arts and splendid in arms. Ireland 
had only to retrace her steps to gain the culminating 
point of social refinement and national glory. Celtic 
civilisation and renown were the historic fancies of Young 
Ireland. Their island was too rich in the stores of 
native literature and science, to value the partnership of 
Saxon wit, or even to prize the monuments of Greek and 
Italian genius. It was described as basking in the meri- 
dian blaze of philosophy and letters, in the fruition of 
more than Eoman grandeur and more than Ionian ele- 
gance, when the residue of Europe sat in utter darkness, 
save when a solitary beam from the western fount of 
light, struck across the gloom, and for a moment illumi- 
nated the nations. What was then to be done but to 
restore ? Accordingly, it was the aim of the party 
(whicli they pursued with a vigour and steadiness propor- 
tioned to their sincerity, of which there was no doubt) to 
un-Saxonise and Celtify the laws and institutions, the 


manners and customs, the commerce, the agriculture, the 
learning, language, nay, the very costnme of the country. 

Steps had already been taken to revive the Brehon law ; 
and although a Brehon Inn of Court was still only in con- 
templation, and a professorship of Celtic jurisprudence 
was not yet actually instituted, on many a hill-side and 
daisied bank were to be seen sitting experimental tri- 
bunals of the old national law, under the name of Arbi- 
tration Courts, presenting a new variety of the plant, 
Wild Justice, which the political herborist was charmed 
to meet with, when, perhaps, he was only looking for a 
flower of literature, blossoming in a hedge-school. But 
the grand design, of course, was to Certify the fountain of 
law itself ; and the day was actually fixed for the meeting 
of the Irish states-general in College Green, or the open- 
ing of the national Green-House. Some suspected that 
even deeper designs were entertained ; that even Scythian 
creeds were to be disentombed ; the Scythian gods in- 
voked again upon the ancient Cromlechs, and the fires of 
Baal kindled upon the hill-tops. But this (although an 
appropriate consummation of the projects of a mountain 
party, and necessary to complete the parallel between 
Celtic fanaticism and Jacobin insanity) was never, per- 
haps, more than the untold dream of a solitary furioso, or 
the whisper of one lunatic interchanging fine frenzies with 

Of course there was much of this extravagance that 
did not meet the eye. Many things were done in a 
corner, and, perhaps, in momentary fits of reason, some 
freaks of folly were abandoned which were even too 
lunatic for lunacy itself. It was good comedy to hear 


in the crypts of agitation the dreamer laughing at the 
visionary, and the maniac pitying the madman. Bedlam 
protested occasionally against the introduction of mea- 
sures hatched in Swift's hospital; and Swift's, in its turn, 
had no notion of allowing the provincial lunatic asylum 
to turn the country topsy-turvy. It will now be under- 
stood how distinguished a position in a party like this 
belonged of right to Tierna Mac Morris, the youngest 
member of the fraternity, the descendant of the hero of 
Harfieur, the son of Shane Mac-Ever-Eoy of the Un- 
christened Hand, and the restorer of Stonehenge ! The 
portrait of Tierna has already been drawn ; his features 
were all the handsomer for not being as Hibernian as his 
politics ; it was observable that he did not quarrel with 
nature for having given him black hair instead of red, a 
nose rather aquiline than retrousse, and the " dolcemente 
feroce" of one of Tasso's heroes instead of the humorous 
ruffianism of a Tipperary bravo. 

It will now be understood also with what ardour our 
pale and fiery enthusiast burned to take the place as- 
signed to him by the unanimous vote of his compeers ; 
how he loathed the Saxon soil on which, for a season, 
he was doomed to tread ; how he detested the dry study 
that detained him from the most animating of all pur- 
suits ; how he panted to mingle in the hurly-burly be- 
yond the channel, tumble in the agitated waves, and like 
a young spirit of the storm, direct the western hurricane. 

If aught was wanting to inflame his ambition, it was 
supplied by the following poetical invocation addressed 
to him at this period, by one of the numerous bards of 
the party, and published in the columns of the " Sun- 

120 THE EALCON i'AMIil' ; 

'"' Up, Tigernach, up ! young Mac Morris arise ! 
With the might in that heart, and the fire in those eyes ; 
That high-swelling heart, and that far-flashing fire ; 
List the voice of the bard — hear the call of the lyre. 

" Up, Tigernach, up ! slumber's not for the brave, 
For the soul that is destined a nation to save ; 
Up, Tigernach, up ! and the Saxon put down, 
With that terrible smile, and that beautiful frown. 

" Oh, when was the battle, or skirmish, or broil, 
But Mac Morris was there in the midst of the coil — 
Mac Morris the yellow, the black, or the white, 
In the heart of the fray, on the edge of the fight. 

" Mac Morris, Mac Morris, remember thy name ! 
Leave the temple of law for the temple of fame. 
Come, Tigernach, champion this championless isle, 
With that beautiful frown and that terrible smile. 

" Thy frowns thou dost keep for the Saxony maids, 
Thy smiles for the girls of thy own native glades, 
Where fair Oonnemara, the garden of God, 
By women more lovely than seraphs is trod. 

" Up, Tigernach, up ! in thy might and thy truth, 
With the wisdom, the lore, and th' experience of youth. 
The traitor to trample, the Saxon to scare, 
With that far-flashing eye and that long-flowing hair." 


" There is no question that in all civilised nations the women 
must on the whole gain the ascendancy. I find universally that 
the active woman, formed to acquire and to uphold, is master in the 
house ; the beauty master in larger circles." Gbthe. 


The Falcons made but a brief stay in Harley-street. 
The gipsy was not over fond of vacant houses in town, for 


she found by long experience that they always involved 
her in more or less of the trouble and expense of house- 
keeping. In the country there was always a dairy to 
supply cream and butter, a garden to yield fruit and vege- 
tables, a farm-yard to contribute poultry, with perhaps a 
moor to furnish a brace of grouse, or a preserve to 
embellish the second course with a pheasant; and it is 
worthy of observation that people who board and lodge 
themselves in their friends' houses are never content 
without a second course, particularly when, like Mrs. 
Falcon, they have been educated in patrician tastes and 
habits. In town-residences the case was painfully altered ; 
there were no broods of young chickens iu Harley-street 
for the Falcons to pounce on, no wild-fowl but the 
sparrows under the eaves and the jackdaws in the chim- 
neys, no kitchen-garden but the greengrocer's shop ; — 
nay, even a decoction of chalk-and-water involved a 
pecuniary expenditure. "With all the gipsy's piratical 
craft and daring, an expedition would sometimes fail. 
The Ropers, for instance, affected the meazles the moment 
they descried her flag in the offing ; she attempted to 
board the Duckworths, but the Duckworths were resolved 
not to board her ; several other families put their larders 
and cellars in a state of defence ; and the result was that 
the Falcons were now and then reduced to the afflicting 
necessity of lunching and dining at their own cost and 
charges, which was disagreeable in two ways — first, 
because it pressed upon finances which were none of the 
most flourishing ; and secondly, because the table, was 
never so well spread when they spread it themselves, as 
when their friends and acquaintances spread it for them. 


However, the gipsy never left a country place for town 
without making some little arrangement with gardeners 
and gamekeepers, in order to have supplies of rural pro- 
duce forwarded after her to London. Hampers of fowl 
and vegetables, turkeys from Norfolk, and clouted cream 
from Devonshire, were agreeable links between town and 
country ; they enabled Mr. Falcon, who had dipped into 
"Locke on the Human Understanding," to make philo- 
sophical remarks on the association of ideas ; they kept 
people in mind who were out of ken ; and when they 
were not wanting for actual home-consumption, they 
served as capital bait to catch fresh invitations, for Mrs. 
Falcon knew how to take salmon with sprats, as the pro- 
verb goes, as well as the keenest angler of her sex in 

A few days after the eventful arrival in Harley-street 
there was a lively expectation of good things from 
Eroomiield, near Stony Stratford, where the Falcons had 
been displaying their talents for nidification when affairs 
of moment decided them to repair to London. 

" If Eingwood does not forget the pheasants," said Mrs. 
Falcon, " I'll send one brace to the Spooners, and another 

to ;" and she paused to think in what quarter the 

second brace of pheasants might be disposed of with the 
greatest advantage to the family. 

""What do you think of the Ropers, my dear?" asked 
her very simple husband. 

" Nonsense !— and the children in the meazles !" 

" The Puddicomes, mamma," gratefully suggested Lucy. 

" The Puddicomes — yes — perhaps so. No — a hare or a 
rabbit will do for the Puddicomes ; they are not penurious, 


I must say that for them ; and indeed, Lucy, love, I think 
Miss Tynte has been of great use to you. !No — I'll send 
a brace of pheasants to the shabby Shycocks ; and if Mr. 
Marrowfat sends up a good lot of potatoes and asparagus 
— there's that odious Lady Grubb — I suppose she may as 
well get them." Such are some of the advantages of being 
odious and shabby in this frolicsome world ; shabby people 
receive pheasants, while the liberal are put off with a hare 
or a rabbit. Be odious, and you shall at least have a 
basket of new potatoes ; be all hospitality, kindness, and 
good-nature — nay, keep a family hotel for your friends, 
like the Bompases — and you will never be once named or 
thought of in the distribution of the gifts of fortune. 
The Germans have a proverb, " as ungrateful as a cuckoo," 
— as ungrateful as a Eaicon would be equally true to 
nature ; but then both cuckoo and falcon belong to the 
class of parasite birds. 

And a deal box with a large hamper did arrive, in due 
course of steam and railway, from Ringwood, the game- 
keeper, and Marrowfat, the gardener, of Broomneld. The 
offerings of the former were examined first. Mr. Ealcon 
thrust in his hand to pull out the pheasants. 

" "What's this ?" he exclaimed, at the first glimpse of the 
plumage — " blackcock !" 

"Blackcock! — there's no blackcock at Broomfield." 

"Pine fat birds, at any rate," he continued, fumbling 
under the hay, and gradually extricating the game. 

" It is blackcock, and very black, too ; I am so fond of 
Ringwood, he is so thoughtful!" cried the gipsy. 

"Three brace of rooks!" ejaculated poor Mr. Falcon, 
dropping his under-lip very low, and letting the sable 


proofs of the gamekeeper's thoughtfulness drop at the 
same time into the box. Mrs. Falcon blew a little hurri- 
cane for several minutes, but there was no great use in 
being angry, and so, like a sensible woman, she recovered 
her temper. 

However, these little disasters of the agricultural 
interest, coupled with the marked inattentions of the 
servants in Harley-street, suggested the idea of a new 
migration; but Mrs. Falcon's mind was of too com- 
prehensive a character to be decided by any single con- 
sideration in a question so important as a change of 
residence. The plan she now broached combined several 
advantages, physical and moral, immediate and remote. 

"Sir Frederick Crozier, my dear," she said to her 
husband, as he lay on his back one morning, calculating 
how many years it would take to convert all the Jews in 
Poland at the rate of three per annum, supposing the 
number of Israelites to be twenty thousand. " Sir 
Frederick Crozier has left St. Eonald's for Cheltenham, 
— how many years — " 

"More than six thousand, my dear," replied Mr. Fal- 
con; "but that's only an approximation, I'll do it by 
logarithms when I get up." — Mrs. Falcon rose on her 
elbow, and turned her piercing black eyes sharply round on 
her red-nosed partner, to ascertain whether he was not 

" "What are you thinking of?" she demanded, seeing 
that his little grey orbs were wide-awake and twinkling 
with activity. 

" Of the Polish Jews, of course, my love — you asked 


" I was going to ask you how many years it is since we 
were last at Sir Frederick Crozier's place in Hertfordshire." 

" I beg pardon, my dear ; — we spent the autumn there 
the year before last." 

" "Well, then, I think I shall go down with Emily and 
Davy, and stay there until you have arranged everything 
for our journey to Ireland ; indeed, I have made up my 
mind. Now don't interrupt me, Mr. Falcon, if you 
please, — there's no use in your making objections. Do 
you remember Rebecca Spriggs ?" 

" Yes, my dear, — the finishing governess ?" 

" "Well — I have secured her for Emily — that is,. I re- 
commended her to Sir Frederick for his daughters, and 
he has engaged her ; she is perfect mistress of Italian and 
German, and she will also teach Davy the Latin Gram- 
mar. As to French, I don't want the assistance of any 
governess. jSTow you must write to Sir Frederick this 
day, Mr. Falcon." 

" But, my dear, in Sir Frederick's absence do you think 
it would be quite — ?" and Falcon was proceeding, with 
amusing trepidation, to insinuate a shadow of doubt as to 
the decorum of the step which his sovereign mistress 
seemed resolved to take. 

" In his absence ! Why, that's the attraction ; I should 
not think of going to St. Eonald's, if he was to be at 
home. When we were there last, I never had a moment's 
privacy ; he used to lounge into the drawing-room with 
his hat on, and a hatchet in his hand like a ploughman ; I 
never knew such a vulgar intrusive old curmudgeon." 

" My dear, he has been very good to us in a variety of 
ways — we must not be uugrateful, my dear." It was not 


often that .Falcon ventured on a moral lecture, and even 
this short didactic effort was so arduous (such was his 
fear of the fair audience at his side) that his voice grew 
as husky as that of a young curate preaching his first 
sermon in presence of an archbishop. 

" Ungrateful ! — now really it's too bad to hear you talk 
of our being ungrateful to Sir Frederick Crozier. Do 
you forget the time that you were secretary to the Mid- 
land Horticultural Association ?" 

" No, my dear." 

" And who was it that got the St. Ronald's carnations 
and apricots the prize at the grand exhibition ? They 
were the poorest flowers I ever laid my eyes on, but I 
made you keep the good ones behind the rhododendrons — 
it was that did it." 

" It helped, T fear," muttered Falcon, unable to repress 
his feeling of remorse at the profligate transaction thus 
suddenly recalled to his memory. 

"You fear! — how conscientious you are ! — as if it sig- 
nified who got the prize for a parcel of worthless pinks. 
I presume I am as conscientious as any bodyneed be ; 
indeed, I often think I am too conscientious a great deal ; 
but there's no use in talking. I'm determined to go to 
St. Ronald's with the girls and Willy, so get up, Mr. 
Falcon, and write to Sir Frederick the first thing you do." 

Had Mrs. Falcon been queen of the Amazons, her 
spouse could not have obeyed her orders with more 
prompt submission ; but as he rose he reminded her that 
Mr. St. John Crozier, the eldest son of Sir Frederick, 
passed most of his time at his father'3 country-seat, where, 
being the most Puseyitical of Puseyites, he had intro- 


duced as many popish usages as were consistent with a 
domestic establishment, and had it in contemplation to 
try, -with the concurrence of a few of his tractarian friends, 
the experiment of a little monastic institution. 

"I knew that he was some ite or another," said Mrs. 
Falcon, who was as free from religious bigotry as any 
gipsy that ever dwelt in tents. " What are Puseyites ?" 

" A kind of Protestant papists, my dear, or popish Pro- 
testant ; they fast and feast — ring bells — light candles — 
dress in white ; there's nothing very wrong in it all, ex- 
cept the fasting. That's a fatal mistake." 

" I hate and detest these religious distinctions," said 
Mrs. Palcon ; " one never knows what to do ; I wish to 
be accommodating, but it's next to impossible in these 
times, with their Puseyism, their mesmerism, and their 
galvanism ; however, I'll make Lucy and Emily fast at 
St. Ronald's, if it's the rule of the house ; — but poor Re- 
becca Spriggs !" 

"She's not Puseyitical, I believe." 

" Oh no, she is a bitter Protestant." 

"My dear, she will be miserable at St. Ronald's." 

" Miserable ! — ha ! ha ! — the idea of her being miserable 
in so good a situation — the best governess-ship in England 
— fifty pounds a year — not expected to wash any things but 
her own — no pickling or preserving. I think the least 
she may do is to count her beads, and cross herself, if it's 
the rule of the house. I hope she'll be as grateful to me 
as she ought, and devote herself to my poor girls. — Good 
heavens ! what noise is that f " 

"Something heavy has fallen below stairs," said Mr. 


Two images started together into the gipsy's mind— 
the one was that of her wicked "Willy, the other that of 
the beautiful alabaster Diana in the drawing-room. The 
mischief was indeed the work of the little Falcon, whose 
Gothic crime was promptly visited with a classical correc- 
tion, precisely similar to that which, at the shrine of the 
same fair deity, the Spartan youth underwent in the 
olden time, and which no doubt made the " queen o' the 
woods" as unpopular with them as she continued to be 
for a long time with the little English martyr. This sharp 
little execution was in strict conformity with Mrs. Fal- 
con's system ; for in the surveillance and protection of 
articles of vertu in her friends' houses nothing could 
exceed her vigilance and activity ; she might pardon 
offences directly against herself, but she never left un- 
revenged a mutilated Mars, or a violated Venus ; for 
those were crimes that shut the doors of mansions in 
her face, and were utterly incompatible with her scheme 
of life. It is deeply to be regretted that the gipsy's 
invariable practice in cases of this nature did not receive 
the sanction of the three estates of the realm, until the 
destruction of the Portland Vase pressed upon the public 
the wisdom and necessity of adopting it. 

Mrs. Falcon, however, while she enforced her funda- 
mental law, could not but admit that a house so full of 
marbles and alabasters was not the fittest residence for 
her son, at the period of life when the animal spirits are 
exuberant, while the artistic tastes are but imperfectly 
developed. Accordingly, dreading another occasion for 
reasoning with her hand, she forthwith announced her 
resolution to remove immediately to some house where 


there were not so many fragile curiosities requiring for 
their protection the hands of Briareus as well as the eyes 
of Argus ; and this rational as well as humane determina- 
tion was carried into effect the very next day ; not, how- 
ever, until a letter, full of feeling, had been despatched to 
the Preemans, lamenting in eloquent terms the fate of the 
goddess of the Ephesians, and detailing the martyrdom of 
the young iconoclast, which had made such satisfactory 
atonement for it. 

" Good Heaven !" cried Mrs. Preeman, " did anybody 
ever hear of such a woman ? She breaks my beautiful 
Diana, and thinks to compensate me by whipping her 

"When Mr. Chatworth heard of the transaction, he 
observed, that he never admired the Palcon so much as 
when she was metamorphosed into a "Whip-poor-Will. 


" Patience ! thou young and rose-lipp'd cherubim, 
Aye, there ! — look grim as hell !" 



The hours seemed days and the days months to our 
Celtic hero, in his hot impatience to quit the place of his 
captivity and appear upon the stage of glory. He still 
adhered, however, to the ceremony of professional study, 
and daily went through the form of dropping into Mr. 



Bompas's chambers, hanging his hat on a peg in a dim 
corner, lazily inquiring what business there was in the 
office, and venting his spleen at the barbarism and stu- 
pidity of the law as administered in "Westminster Hall, 
compared with that which the Brehons dispensed in 
Ireland a thousand years before the Christian era. If 
Tigernach ever looked into a book in the present fevered 
state of his mind, it was some work to store his fancy 
with rhetorical figures, furnish his memory with sonorous 
sentences, or inflame his ambition with high-flown senti- 
ments of patriotism and nationality. He read Shakspeare, 
because he blazoned the deeds of his ancestor ; Grattan, 
because he proclaimed the rights of Ireland ; the poetry 
of Moore, because he sang of the days of old ; and the 
prose of Disraeli, because it addressed the hot blood and 
white waistcoats of the rising generation, announcing a 
new order of things, and claiming for Youth the honour 
and authority of Age. — Moore sought him one afternoon, 
and found him with the pages of Eearne spread on his 
desk, but his thoughts as far from the subject of " Con- 
tingent Bemainders" as the zenith is from the nadir. 

" The old thing — luxuriating in Eearne. I have been 
revelling in that great work on ' Bowers.' " 

" Ay, Sir Edward Shakspeare is one of their greatest 
Brehons — lawyers, I should say." 

"Sir Edward Shakspeare!" 

" Did I say Shakspeare ? — I meant Sugden—- of course, 
I meant Sugden." 

" Well, Tierna, there is more law in the works 
of Shakspeare than poetry in the works of Sugden. 
Shakspeare delights in legal imagery, and indeed poetry 


and law have & great deal in common. Pegasus is the 
crest of the Inner Temple, and a more appropriate one 
than the heralds commonly hit upon ; one wing, I pre- 
sume, is for law, and the other for equity — not a little 
poetic fiction, it must be owned, in both." 

" Our lawyers were always bards ; — after all, what jus- 
tice is so perfect as poetic justice ?" 

"The code of Justinian was called his Novels, and 
there was another celebrated Work on the Koman law, 
entitled the ' Extravagantes Johannis.' You may borrow 
the name for your Brekon code when you revive it — what 
think you of the Extravaganzas of Tigernach ? eh, my 
most extravagant and erring spirit ?" 

" Extravagant, not erring," said Mac 3Iorris, with his 
solemn enthusiasm ; " but a poem has a strong resem- 
blance to an action. The ' Paradise Lost,' for instance, 
is an ejectment." 

" Tes ! — and what a glorious John Thrust-out is the 
angel with the flaming sword ! Then the ' Paradise Ee- 
gained' is a redemption-suit, and the ' Iliad' a case of 
assault and battery, — Menelaus and others versus Paris 
and others. But did the analogy ever strike you between 
the seven phases of life in Jacques' soliloquy, and the 
seven steps in pleading as you find them in Chitty and 
Stephen ? There is a stage of litigation for every stage 
of existence ; our law-suits are calculated to last as long 
as ourselves ; we file our declaration in the cradle, and 
arrive simultaneously at the surrebutter and the tomb : 

' Last scene of all 
That ends this strange eventful history/ " 

" Sad justice," said Mac Morris. 



""Wild justice," said Moore, "and not the worse for 
being wild, in the opinion of a Brehon like you." 

" In Ireland we have no other species ; it is the only 
kind the Saxons have left us, and we shall cultivate it 
with our best husbandry." 

" It is vain, Tierna, to ask you to be moderate. I know 
as well as you do that the stream of justice in Ireland 
was long polluted and often poisoned ; I feel as strongly 
as you do, that too much pains cannot be taken to 
brighten and purify its waters, — I would have them 
healing as the waters of Israel, and lucid as the rivers of 

" But flowing from Saxon fountains, they are more like 
Acheron and Styx than Abana and Pbarphar." 

" Certainly not now. The judicial bench is no longer 
the monopoly of a faction ; the administration of justice 
has been purged and reformed in many notorious parti- 
culars. I read the signs of the times amiss, if I do not 
clearly perceive the Scorpion withdrawing his claws from 
the house of Libra." 

" Your next astronomical discovery will be the name of 
the cutler on the sword of Orion, or a grey hair in the 
tail of Hallcy's comet." 

" No, I shall discover the man in the moon, and have 
his portrait taken for a frontispiece to the ' History of 
Young Ireland.' Shall we have a stroll ?" 


" Leave it to the power that erring men call chance ; 
the steps of a poor law-student like myself may be matters 
of hap-hazard, but some special providence must needs 
direct those of the saviour of a state." 


To this Mac Morris made no reply • but demurely extri- 
cating his gloves from under a miscellaneous pile of books, 
consisting of ""Wordsworth's Poems" and " Chitty's 
Pleading," Carlyle's " Past and Present," " Powell on. 
Mortgages," " Crattan's Speeches," " Milnes' Palm 
Leaves," "Moore's Reports," and "Moore's Melodies," 
he put on his hat with a little "giddy cunning," so as 
not to derange, or too much conceal, his hyacinthine locks, 
redundant as Absalom's, and " wreathing his arms like a 
malecontent," followed Moore into the outer air. 

Proceeding in a north-westerly direction, they passed 
through the region of St. Giles, where the labours of the 
Metropolitan Improvement Commissioners have made the 
Rookery as Nineveh, and all the ancient haunts of the 
Irishry in London, even as Tadmor of the "Wilderness. 
Moore remarked the improvement of the district; spacious, 
airy, and lightsome thoroughfares, in place of the dark 
row and the noisome alley. 

" Improvement !" — repeated Tierna, bitterly. 

" Is it not ?" demanded Moore. 

" Saxon improvement," said Mac Morris, " which means 
the extermination of the Celts in the streets of London, 
as well as in the fields of Ireland." 

" You have discovered a new grievance," said Dominick. 
" I said your steps would be supernaturally directed." 

" As a grievance, I shall record it in my catalogue," 
replied Tigernach. 

" Seriously, would you have spared the foul and pesti- 
lential dens that once covered the place where we now 
walk ?" 

" Some of those dens were inhabited by the descendants 



of a hundred kings," answered Mac Morris. " It is be- 
cause the Rookery was the retreat of Celtic royalty that 
the Saxon has razed it to the ground," 


" Did ever mortal mixture of earth's mould 
Breathe such divine enchanting ravishment r 
Sure something holy lodges in that breast, 
And with its raptures woos the vocal air 
To testify its hidden residence." 



Thet wandered in the Regent's Park until the hour 
admonished them that it was time for the planets of the 
Temple to retrograde towards the refectory, that important 
point in the orbit of the law-student. It was verging to 
sis o'clock, and the streets of that part of the town were 
growing still and silent ; indeed, they are always remark- 
able for their good behaviour ; presenting a most praise- 
worthy contrast to the riotous conduct of the city tho- 
roughfares, and the fashionable hubbub of the west-end. 
As Moore and his friend passed through Portland-place, 
domestic sounds were distinctly audible, which would 
have merged and been lost altogether in the din of Cheap- 
side, or even in the clatter of Brook-street ; for example, 
they could hear the clocks striking in the houses, and 


various other noises from the interiors, sometimes perhaps 

indicating that passion and reason were at their old war 

in the drawing-room, or that big England and little 

England were not on the most peaceable terms in the 

nursery. The day had been, and still continued, sultry, 

so that numerous windows were raised to catch whatever 

cool air might be flitting through the summer sty. At 

length, as they passed a certain house, they heard the 

notes of a piano, and suddenly there gushed from the open 

casement a stream <cf voice so sweet, so strong, so clear, 

so voluptuous, that Mac Morris stopped abruptly, and 

paused to listen. The air was plaintive, and there was a 

delicious thrill in the notes, — whether the skill of the 

performer, or the effect of the air rippling the stream of 

sound, — Avhich made the strain almost magical. Tigernach 

felt not only the power and beauty, but he appreciated 

the rarity and value of the voice, which was a contr'-alto. 

Admiration and rapture struck him dumb ; but in another 

moment, when he heard the words of the air (for one of 

the merits of the singer was the lucid clearness, of her 

pronunciation), his astonishment had no bounds. 

" Great Heaven! — Dominick! — this is strange!" 

" Hope no more for fatherland, 

All her ranks are thinn'd and broken ; — 
Long a base and coward band 

Bxcreant words like these have spoken. 

" But we preach a land awoken, 

A land of courage true and tried, 
As your fears are false and hollow, 
Slaves and dastards stand aside, 

" Knaves and traitors" — 
"Divine ! — wonderful !" cried Tigernach, in a low, en- 
thusiastic tone, powerfully affected by the music and the 


singularity of hearing one of the " Songs of the Nation" 
chanted in the streets of the Saxon capital.* 

"She can't pronounce 'Fag-a-bealac,' " said Dominick, 
who was acquainted with the lay and the Celtic words 
that close each stanza ; " but one can't blame a Saxon 
songstress for that." 

" Hark, again !" — Dominick would have moved on, but 
Tigernach grasped kis arm. 

" Eling our Sim-burst to the wind 
Studded o'er with names of glory, 
Worth and wit and might and mind 
Long shall make it shine in story. 

" Close your ranks — the moment's come, 
Now, you men of Ireland, follow, 
Friends of freedom, charge them home ! 
Foes of freedom — fag — fag — fag-a — " 

" Won't do — can't do it — can't manage the ' fag-a- 
bealac;' but for that she would not be so bad — for a 

" Saxon or Celt, she is divine !" cried Mac Morris, in 

"Pie, Tigernach!" said Dominick. — Tigernach made 
no answer, and still maintained his ground, in hopes that 
the song would be relumed ; but he was disappointed. 

" I have heard the best female singers of France, Ger- 
many, and Italy," said Tigernach, as they sat down to 

* The song entitled Fag-a-Bealac appears amongst the Songs 
of the Irish " Nation," as " chanted in full chorus at the Sym- 
posiacs" of Young Ireland. The wild words that form the burden, 
were the cry of some Western clans in their barbarous faction 
fights ; and the 88th Regiment, or Connaught Rangers, carried it 
with them to the Peninsula, where it is said to have added wings 
to the feet of the Trench soldiery ; who, without knowing that it 
meant " Clear the road," acted upon the hint which it gave them, 
as if they ]iad been the most accomplished Celtic scholars. 


dinner in the Temple hall, " but a voice so divine as that, 
— and then the words — how very strange ! — in Portland- 

"She's not to be compared to Grisi," said Moore, 
helping himself to the dish before him. 

"A dhTerent thing — totally different — just as perfect 
in its kind." 

" Shall I help you to roast veal ?" 

" Moore, you have no music in your soul — you want 
the sense." 

" I have the sense to dine. I have the sense to know 
that this is execrable sherry, and capital South African 
Madeira. Shall I give you a slice of ham ?" 

" No ; — the peculiarity of that voice is this — " 

" Still at the voice ! — that strain again !" 

" Ah ! — how unlike you are to the Duke Orsino !" 

" "Well, I resemble Jessica — 

' I'm never merry when I hear sweet music. 5 
The music for me is that which is mellowed bv distance : 
and I prefer the old concert of the morning stars to the 
finest modern concerts at Her Majesty's Theatre, upon 
the principle that the charm of music is directly propor- 
tioned to the space intervening between the ear and the 
orchestra. But you are not eating." 

" I have dined." 

" Dined ! — upon an air, then, most chameleon-like. I 
never understood before what Milton meant bv— 

' Even against eating cares 
Lap me in soft Lydian airs. 5 

I wish nations could be fed so cheaply ; in what fine con- 
dition Ireland would be, if people could breakfast on 



ballads, and sup on a song. Tour national rhymers for- 
get that men have mouths to be fed as well as ears to be 

" I wonder what we shall have after the ' Songs of the 
Nation ?' " said O'Eegan, another Irish student. 

" Probably," said Moore, who was now in his light 
vein, " probably the ' Sighs of the Nation ;' then a series 
of ' Popular Sobs,' or a few numbers of ' Irish Groans ;' 
after which, it is devoutly to be hoped that this rhyming 
frenzy will breathe its last." 

" But you admire the ' Songs of the Nation,' Moore, 
do you not ?" said O'Eegan. 

" They have the merit of earnestness, and the demerit 
of bluster : for middling poetry they are very good in- 
deed: but I hold, with Horace, that there is no such 

"The 'Young Ireland melodies,'" said an English 
student, " belong to the Hurricane School in poetry." 

""Which I dislike as much as I do the Lake School," 
said Moore. " I know Skiddaw there will burn me for a 

" You deserve it," drawled Skiddaw; a tall, solemn 
student, with a dreamy eye, and a head as vapoury as the 
summit of the Wordsworthian mountain whose name he 
bore. " The ' Excursion' is the greatest and sweetest 
poem in the language." 

" The drowsiest syrup of the poetical world," said 
Moore ; " a hundred lines of it would make the green- 
eyed monster itself sleep like a nurse-tender." 

" Have you read ' Palm Leaves ?' " asked a pert youth 
in a white waistcoat. 


" Or the ' Historic Fancies ?' " asked another white 
waistcoat, a pensive stripling. 

" I have nodded impartially over both," said Moore. 

" I hope you nodded over the ' Songs of the Nation' 
in your impartiality," said the white waistcoat that was 

" No ; the clatter of the stanzas kept me awake. Ours 
are not the bards to let you slumber over their strains ; 
you might as well think to sleep in the bed of a torrent, 
or in sheets of lightning." 

" But, seriously, did you nod over the ' Historic 
Fancies ?' " 

" I not only nodded seriously, but slept soundly ; I am 
thinking of publishing my literary nutations. Coscombry 
is always soporiferous ; but when it takes the poetic form, 
it beats poppy and mandragora." 

Here Mac Morris, who had been sitting still and mate 
as a statue, chewing the cud of the delicious voice in 
Portland-place, rose from the table, and strode somewhat 
melo-dramatically from the hall, followed by many eyes, 
particularly by those of the white waistcoats, one of 
whom buret forth into rapturous admiration of our 
hero's hair. 

"It is longer and blacker than St. Crispin's, and he 
had the finest head of hair, and was the cleverest fellow 
at Oriel." 

" Tou think the longest hair makes the longest head," 
said Dominick. " On that principle, Absalom should 
have been the wisest of men instead of his brother, 
and Colonel Sibthorp ought to be a privy councillor." 



" Young Ireland is mimicking La Jeune France," said 
a student. 

"Mimicking a Frenchman is aping a monkey," said 

''What is the Young Ireland principle?" asked an 

" Ireland for the Irish," said O'Regan ; " just as if I 
were to throw up my hat, shout the Oregon Territory 
for the O'Begans ! and declare war with England and 

" How do you account, Moore," said an English stu- 
dent, who had not before joined the conversation, " for 
the political extravagance which seems just now so preva- 
lent amongst your countrymen ?" 

"It is easier," Moore replied, "for rulers to change 
their principles of government, than to get rid of the evils 
which former maladministration has engendered. You 
see in the Irish extravagance of to-day the latest corollary 
from your English misrule of ages." 

" We have been greater in arms than in government, it 
is too true." 

" You overlooked in Ireland the greatness of liberality ; 
you forgot that where the state is the donor and the 
people the donee, the true economy is profusion. Fru- 
gality is an excellent Chancellor of the Exchequer ; but 
Bounty should be Secretary for the Home Department. 
By a few autumns of franchises, how many winters of dis- 
content might you have saved yourselves in Ireland." 

" We are beginning to understand the policy of mu- 

" Munificence is the instinct of greatness, not its policy. 


The bounty of a great country like this, and of a minister 
worthy of such a country, ought to be like Mark An- 
thony's. There should be ' no winter in it.' " 
" "Well, we are waxing autumnal." 
" The summer, I think, has commenced." 
" Tet the voice of the turtle has not been heard in 
your land ; your public men are like the Canadian bishops, 
who had a solemn religious ceremony, and, perhaps retain 
it still, for the excommunication of the doves." 

" Mac Morris would tell you, if he were here, that the 
public men in Ireland, like the Canadian bishops, excom- 
municate no doves that do not commit more havoc than 
kites ; but for my part, I neither justify the indiscrimi- 
nate violence of Irish agitation, nor do I admit that Eng- 
land is yet entitled to complain that her liberal advances 
have not been met in a generous spirit. As you have 
sown, you must reap. You are at length climbing the 
hill of virtue, but your past conduct has left you only the 
thorny path to mount by. However, you have the cheers 
and good wishes of my humble self, and, I trust, of many 
others who prefer substances to shadows, and a cottage 
on the earth to a castle in the air. My disposition in- 
clines me to cheerful views in politics, as in private life. 
In every school I choose the sunny side of the portico. 
It is both my taste and my principle to hail the first violet 
that peeps, and welcome the first swallow that dares." 

" The name of your present viceroy is auspicious of 
peace and reconciliation — Hates-lury," said the liveliest 
of the white waistcoats. 

" I accept the good omen," said Moore, " even in the 
shape of a bad pun." — They rose, and dispersed by the 



mild splendour of a full summer moon. One was in law, 
and he absconded to his books ; another in love, and he 
repaired to his ladye's bower ; one white waistcoat went 
to a Toung England club, the other went to a Puseyitical 
soiree. Skiddaw ascended demurely to his garret, and he 
was not long there before he mounted higher still, for he 
got into "Wordsworth's " Ecclesiastical Sonnets," and 
thence into the clouds. Moore proceeded in search of 
the song-smitten Tierna, whom he found sauntering alone 
in the deserted gardens of the Temple, while the pale 
planet, who turns tides and brains, immemorial patroness 
of lovers, lunatics, poets, and poetical politicians — the 
lady high-chancellor of the skies — sat on the azure wool- 
sack, dispensing her beams with unearthly equity, to the 
least wave that rippled on the river, and the tiniest leaf 
that rustled on its banks. 

The sweet Saxon voice was still warbling the rude 
Celtic melody in the retentive ear of the susceptible Mac 
Morris. Moore walked by his side for a moment or two 
in silence, believing him absorbed in his customary sub- 
jects of meditation, and being too unmusical himself to 
conceive it possible that the snatch of a song, flung by an 
unseen songster from a window, could make an impression 
of a sufficient depth to last for a summer evening. At 
length Mac Morris stopped abruptly. Moore marked 
the wild glancing of his eye, and expected one of his 
finest explosions. Never did a flash more faithfully pre- 
dict a thunder-clap. 

" What notes !" he exclaimed with transport. " What 
notes would those be to hymn the birthday of a nation's 
liberty — to sing at the nativity of Irish independence !" 


" I like the idea," said Moore, quietly, of celebrating a 
Celtic revolution with Saxon minstrelsy." 

" Saxon! — how do you know it to be Saxon?" asked 
Tigernach, sharply, after having been at first taken aback 
by Moore's natural observation. 

" She could not pronounce Fag-a-leaiae ; — the vile 
Saxon — " 

"Moore! — do not — " Tigernach paused, and Domi- 
nick laughed ; both felt the absurdity of the remonstrance 
keenly ; and again they paced up and down the cool 
terrace, Mac Morris looking wild enough to take Hot- 
spur's jump at the moon, and Moore observing him with 
the glance of a practical metaphysician, or a mad-doctor. 

Tigernach stopped a second time in the same theatrically 
.sudden manner, and said, " Moore, you talked of a lady 
whom you met at Mr. Bompas's — I forget her name — she 
sang, you said, and was handsome, and talked of Ireland." 

" Miss Falcon — yes, and now I recollect, her voice re- 
sembled that which we heard to-day." 

" Perhaps the same," said Mac Morris. 

" No," said Moore, " the Falcons live in Harley-street." 

Mac Morris made no reply, and Moore soon left him to 
his solitary ruminations, having business or pleasure in 
another place. 

" I can fancy," he said to himself, as he proceeded to 
his chambers, " the song of his Celtic cherubs, abiding in 
the fields by night, carolling what he calls the nativity of 
Irish freedom — strife on earth, and ill-will to Englishmen, 
would assuredly be the burden of the lay. I should be 
sorry to see any girl of beauty and accomplishment en- 
gaged in such an operatic company," He paused, and re- 


fleeted for a moment. " Could the voice of Portland- 
place have heen that of Emily Falcon ?" It now occurred 
to him that it was just possible that the Palcons might 
have shifted their quarters ; he recalled what he had picked 
up of the habits of the old birds, and why might they not 
have flitted since he last met them, from Harley-street to 
Portland-place ? But was it worth the trouble of inves- 
tigation ? The gipsy was very amusing, her daughter 
was very interesting, both were very handsome, each in 
her style of beauty ; the mother to please the lovers of 
full-blown charms, the daughter to captivate those who 
are rather Buddists in their notions of female loveliness. 
Whether it was the attraction of the rose or the rose-bud, 
of a roguish brunette or a romantic blonde, Moore deter- 
mined on a cruise to Portland-place in chase of the pira- 
tical squadron. 

" Chewing the cud of sweet fancies " as he went his 
way upon this pleasant expedition, he thought of law and 
love alternately ; and his ideas wandering from the halls 
of Themis to the bowers of Venus, fell into the following 
idle rhymes : 

Say, what is Love ? — a litigation — 

A law-suit brought in Cupid's courts, 
Beginning with a declaration — 

See Suckling's or see Moore's Reports. 
One suitor seeks sweet satisfaction 

For damage done by woman's wile ; 
Another brings his lawful action 

Upon a promissory smile. 

Your billets-doux are Love's citations 

To rosy bowers and myrtle shades. 
They sometimes leave us no vacations, — 

Those process-serving ladies' maids. 


Appearance is the lover's duty, 
And with, a speed beyond the dove, 

Subpoena'd by the writ'of Beauty, 
He flies upon the wings of Love. 

How sweet in moonlit hall or bower 
"With fair defendant to imparl ; 

But when th' imparlance lasts an hour, 
The court above is apt to snarl. 

If mothers still will be Vansittarts, 
And fathers calculate like Necker, 

Let Mammon be the Judge to knit hearts, 
And Love Chief Baron of th' Exchequer. 



" I know by their ports, 
And their jolly resorts, 
They are of the sorts 
That love the true sports 
Of King Ptolomeus, 
Our great Coryphseus, 
And Queen Cleopatra, 
The gipsy's Grand 31atra." 

Ben Jonson's " Gipsies Metamorphosed" 


That evening did not pass without Emily Ealcon learn- 
ing to pronounce the wild whoop of the Connaught 
Rangers, which Italianised by her delicious voice, was 
pleasing to the ear perhaps for the first time in its martial 

Moore was right in his conjecture. He found Mrs. 
Ealcon " at home" — at the house of a Mr. Jenkinson, to 
which she had removed immediately after the disasters 
that befel the alabaster goddess of the woods, and that 


flower of her flock, her sweet "William. The gipsy 
looked superb. A tiara of red velvet surmounted her 
hair, which was formed into two black clouds on each side 
of her sphynx-like face, whose dark-bright complexion 
reminded Dominick (although only an admirer, not a 
lover) of " Helen's beauty on a brow of Egypt." She 
received the young Irishman with an affability at once 
gracious and dignified, but she did not conceal her sur- 
prise at seeing him ; she presumed, however, that he had 
heard of her last migration through the Bompases. 
Emily coloured slightly when she learned in what way 
their present residence was discovered ; but it is doubtful 
whether she would have severely reproached herself with 
attracting attention by her warbling, had it brought 
Mac Morris to Portland-place along with Moore. 

The gipsy asked Dominick why he was not accom- 
panied by his friend, whose name, she added, she never 
ventured to pronounce. Dominick smiled, and asked Miss 
Ealcon whether she had forgotten the little lesson he had 
given her in pronouncing Irish ; he then answered her 
mother's question by saying that Mac Morris and he had 
separated for the evening, before the sudden recollection 
of Emily's voice had suggested the idea of his present 

"Is Mr. Mac Morris as musical as you are?" inquired 
Mrs. Ealcon, naturally thinking that her daughter's voice 
was the spell operating upon Dominick. 

" As J am !" exclaimed Moore ; " ah, I am not musical 
at all — I do not understand music — Mac Morris is as 
fanatical on that subject as he is on politics. Miss Ealcon 
would not believe me were I to tell her how her voice 


transported him ; nay, I positively assure you, he dined 
upon the memory of the notes, and I have no doubt he 
will sup upon them too." — This was the first triumph of 
the fair Saxon over the fierce Celt, and probably the rela- 
tion of it, slight as it was, flushed her cheek ; for she 
changed her position so that Moore could not remark the 
alteration, if any, that her countenance underwent. 

" I am making her learn some popular Irish airs, Mr. 
Moore, for those delightful night-suppers you gave us 
such a charming account of at Mr. Bompas's. It is very 
uncertain whether we shall go to Ireland or not, but if we 
do, I shall positively go cockering — " 

" Coshering," said Moore, correcting her. 

" Coshering, I mean, — it must be enchanting ; and as to 
the night-suppers, I am determined to go to them all." 

" I shall urge Mac Morris to revive that antique mode 
of jollification, expressly for your entertainment," said 
Dominick. " Tou must know that both coshering and 
night-suppers were forbidden by -act of parliament, so 
that nothing more piquant can be imagined in the way of 

" When does Mr. Mac Morris go to Ireland ?" Emily 
now ventured to ask. 

" In a few days ; he is all ardour to take the field, and 
indeed his young countrymen are equally impatient to 
range themselves under his banners. By-the-by, I must 
send you a poetical address to him by the chief of the 
Celtic bards : his position is really a brilliant one, but I 
grieve to say that I do not consider it as creditable to his 
discretion, as it is flattering to his vanity. Now, I know 
Miss lalcon thinks me sadly deficient in enthusiasm." 



"Well, I do think you are," said Emily, frankly, but 
smiling as she spoke. 

" Emily is quite wild. I often tell her she is half Irish ; 
she talks of monster-meetings quite coolly, Mr. Moore, 
and thinks nothing of shooting a landlord." 

Emily blushed and laughed. " You must not believe 
half of what mamma says of me, Mr. Moore." 

" Tou would not shoot a landlord, yourself" replied 
Moore, gaily. 

" No," laughed Emily; " but, Mr. Moore, I have a favour 
to ask you." 

" Tou want to pronounce the Irish words in the song 
you were singing this evening." 

" How well you guessed !" — But Moore, while he in- 
structed the fair enthusiast to pronounce the old Celtic 
battle-cry, could not help expressing his regret that, after 
having done good service in our glorious Peninsular cam- 
paigns, where the foreign enemy fled before it, it should 
now be made the whoop of a domestic faction, and raised 
in that worst of wars, where laurel was never gathered, and 
from which victor never returned in triumph.* 

"lam no musician," he added, "as I before told you; 
but I know that music, like poetry, is a divine gift, and I 
feel that ib would be better employed in establishing 
concord between nations than in widening the breach 
between them : at least, I would leave that ungracious 
office to the drum and the trumpet. Pardon me, if I 
question whether so sweet an instrument as a woman's 
voice — a voice like yours — is not rather made to sing such 

* " Bella geri placuit millos liabitura triumphos." 

Pharsalia, Lib. I, 


songs as Shakspeare's, your own sweet old English ballads, 
than the virulent and rude strains in that flagrant green 
music-book." — Emily would have found a reply difficult, 
but she was saved the necessity of making one by the 
sudden exclamation of her mother (who had been for the 
last few minutes busily engaged in examining and noting 
her registry of useful people and accessible houses) : 

"Mr. Moore, are you engaged for the day after to- 
morrow ?" 

" No," replied Dominick, anticipating an invitation to 
dinner ; and he was not disappointed. 

" Because we must really have another day with the 
Bompases, before we leave town ; Mr. Ealcon is going to 
Ireland, and it would be a great point for him to meet you, 
and perhaps Mr. Mac Morris also, before he starts ; your 
advice and directions would be of immense use to him. I'll 
manage it. Emily, have you Mr. Moore's address ? The 
Bompases are such good people ; in fact, we live with 
them; of course you know, Mr. Moore, we have no 
establishment of our own just at present. "We are hero 
only by accident ; mere birds of passage." 

It would have been extremely dull in Moore to have 
declined an invitation, at once so hospitable and characc 
teristic. He accepted it gaily for himself, and promised 
to acquaint his friend with the gipsy's amiable proposition. 

"You will receive a note," she added, "from Mr. or 
Mrs. Bompas to-morrow morning." 

"It is scarcely necessary," said Moore. 
"No," said Mrs. Ealcon, "but it is just as well, for 
form's sake." 



" And certain stars shot madly from their spheres, 
To hear the sea-maid's musi'c." 

Midsummer Night's Bream. 


"We have seen that it was full-moon, for we left Mac 
Morris raving under its influence in the Temple Gardens. 
The night was sultry, as well as brilliant, and Moore had 
scarcely taken leave, when Mrs. Ealcon threw open the 
windows to air the apartment and admit the fragrance of 
a little forest of odoriferous plants upon the balconies. 
Emily sat carelessly down to the piano, just to practise 
her Irish melody, while the pronunciation of J?ag-a-healac 
was fresh in her recollection. Having warbled a stanza 
or two (not, perhaps, without reflecting on the moral lec- 
ture which Moore had read her), she glided to the window, 
attracted by the moon and the perfume of the flowers, 
and stepping out for a moment amongst the mignionette 
and balsams, was startled to behold a face and form which 
she had already seen once before, and which she had no 
doubt was that of our Celtic hero. 

She shrank back instinctively into the room, and closed 
the window. But Tigernach had been a rapturous lis- 
tener ; his countenance and his attitude, as he hearkened 
to the sweetest voice he thought he bad ever heard, warb- 
ling in the heart of the English capital one of the fiercest 


productions of Young Ireland minstrelsy, expressed as- 
tonishment and rapture in a high degree ; but when the 
unseen songstress came to the close of the stanza, and he 
expected the pause and the stumbling at those uncouth 
Celtic words, what language can describe his amazement ? 
Saints and angels ! — how he stared — when the strong, 
rich stream of sound leaped with melodious agility over 
the obstruction which had so lately thwarted it, just as a 
torrent in his native hills might bound exultingly over a 
mass of granite newly detached from the rugged sides of 
the ravine. 

It is difficult, by the rays of the moon, to take exact 
observation of faces and figures, even when there is 
abundant time to note their peculiarities : but what could 
Tigernach pronounce of an apparition which came and 
went within the space of a minute ? Nothing but that it 
was the figure of a girl dressed in pure white, and that its 
movements seemed light and graceful. Indeed, the sud- 
denness with which it disappeared, was sufficient evidence 
of the sylph-like elasticity, if not of sylph-like beauty. Who 
could she be ? What might be her name ? As to her 
race, perhaps after all she was Irish. What a triumph 
would it afford him over Moore, if, after all, she should 
prove a Connaught Circe, or a syren of Glengariff. He 
inquired, and found that the house belonged to a Mr. 
Jenkinson, and that Mr. jenkinson had daughters. " Jen- 
kinson!" He ran through the roil of all the worthies of 
Ireland, but he could not find the name of Jenkinson 
amongst them : he might as well have looked for Stubbs 
or Bompas. After all, it was but a voice, but a vision ; 
but the snatch of a song, but the glimpse of a girl. What 


was Miss Jenkinson to ]iim, or lie to Miss Jenkinson ? 
This was no time for yielding to soft impressions, even 
associated as they were with the stem duties of his station. 
He who had the dismemberment of the British empire on 
his hands, to be swayed by the breath of a woman, a 
stranger, aiid a Saxon ! He, who was to restore Stone- 
henge and repeal the Union, to be influenced by a voice 
from .a window, and a white lady on a balcony ! He stood 
and gazed awhile, however, before he could tear himself 
from the spot. Not till he utterly despaired of hearing 
" that strain again," and again beholding the vision of 
white muslin among the balsams, did Tigernach Mae 
Morris, the head and front of Toung Ireland, the great 
champion of the Celtic cause, retire to his chambers in 
the Temple. As he retired, too, a white-robed phantom 
dogged his steps, moved as he moved, and turned as he 
turned, still whooping Fag-a-lealac in his ears, in a most 
delicious contr'-alto. The time was past when, in such 
an emergency, he would have implored the help of Chitty 
or Sugden to exorcise a demon or lay a ghost. The 
lawyers, in truth, had never been of signal service to him, 
when he most wanted their succour, against the assaults 
of fancy, and the perilous pleasures either of memory or 
imagination. ]S"ow he did not solicit their aid. He sat 
down to revise and embellish the oration which he had 
prepared for his first appearance in the political arena. 
Ah, Mac Morris ! the image of woman and the joys of 
music, with the " soft and delicate desires" that " come 
thronging" in the train of the graces and the syrens, were 
more germane to your age than any figures of rhetoric or 
any clamours of a mob. The notes of his speech dropped 


from his hand ; neither for exordium or peroration, nor 
for the body of the harangue, could he frame any combi- 
nation of sounds but the cry of the Connaught Rangers ; 
— it was still " Fag-a-bealac ! — Fag-a-bealac !" In a sort 
of despair, he seized on a work of German metaphysics ; 
he had been much devoted of late to that branch of study 
(so excellent a preparation for the business of life, and 
particularly for the practice of statesmanship !) — at all 
events, it now stood his friend, for, assisted by the lateness 
of the hour, it opened the gates of Sleep and ushered him 
into Dreamland. 

"Wandering in that magic realm, populous with the 
shadows of the day's experience, grouped according to no 
discovered law, in " a most admired disorder" of persons 
and things, an anarchy of shapes and sounds, occurrences 
in uproar, and dates in open insurrection — the slumbering 
Tierna saw barristers in petticoats and maidens in huge 
wigs ; reticules changed into lawyers' bags ; and he beheld 
Queen's counsel swimming in robes of muslin, and beau- 
tiful women in forensic silks. In the Court of Chancery, 
an Irish bard was administering the Breh'on law, rhyming 
his orders, and chanting his decrees. He found himself 
in the Common Pleas, and, lo ! there was Serjeant Tal- 
fourd executing a bravura : only that his name was Jen- 
kinson. How well he moved it! — She's a divine pleader 
— G-risi is nothing to him. She lias the ear of the court 
— the Serjeant's voice is a contr'-alto — her wig — his hair 
— it sounds in damages — but he couldn't pronounce Fag- 
a-bealac — no, Mr. Serjeant Jenkinson — now he has it — 
lovely lawyer — profound lady Take your motion, Miss 
Talfourd : no costs, sweet serjeant. 


But were the thoughts of Tigernach the only thoughts 
busy on that evening ? "Was his the only fancy at her 
loom ? His the only brain seething ? Perhaps, while he 
dreamed himself, he had set others dreaming also ; pos- 
sibly there was one imagination in which the shadows were 
combined in even more fantastic forms. What a work 
would be the secret history of the mind's " painted cham- 
ber !" At all events, if ever the annals of the female 
fancy shall be chronicled, perhaps to constitute the light 
reading of joyous spirits in Elysium, there will be found a 
chapter in the rosy volume entitled the " Visions of the 
Enthusiastic Emily ;" and in those visions, on a certain 
summer-night, a principal shadowy character will assuredly 
be a pale student devouring a strain of music, with the 
features of young Mac Morris and the attributes of young 
St. Just. 

"Her name is Jenkinson," said Tierna to Dominick, 
when they met the following morning in one of their 
common haunts. 

""Whose?" asked Moore, affecting ignorance of Mac 
Morris's meaning. 

"That voice," said Tigernach. 

" As good a name for a voice as any," said Dominick, 
smiling ; " but I see you can breakfast as well as dine 
upon sweet sounds." 

" Jenkinson," — murmured Mac Morris, musingly, as 
if he was thinking that a melodious Jenkinson was a 
phenomenon utterly unaccountable. 

" Suppose her name should not be Jenkinson," said 

" I ascertained it," said Tigernach. 


" I ascertained it to be Falcon !" said Moore. 
" Falcon ! — then I was right in the guess I made last 

" You were ; and only that we parted so soon, I should 
have taken you with me upon the voyage of discovery 
which I made myself, and to which I was indebted for a 
charming evening with a pair of enchantresses, although 
the mother is the dame to bewitch me. I am serious. I 
prefer August to May ; and of all things, I delight (merely 
for my pastime) in a clever, roguish, brazen, imperious, 
unprincipled beauty." 

" A flattering account of an English matron." 
" Oh, she is a fascinating vagabond, a regular free- 
booter; 'the world is her oyster,' which she opens with 
her tongue better than Pistol did with his sword. But 
her daughter — I can hardly believe she is her daughter — 
she is a being of another clay, with a fine natural morale, 
although wanting discipline and culture ; she is as enthu- 
siastic, and about Ireland too, as if every drop in her veins 
were pure Celtic ichor." 

"You have not been unobservant of her, it seems," 
said Mac Morris. 

" No ; but I have marked her for you, not for myself." 
"For me !" cried Tigernach, with a disdainful look that 
did not express what he really felt. " But tell me, Moore," 
he added, " was it for me that you passed a livelong 
summer evening hearkening to Miss Falcon's strains' ?" 
" She did not sing — I never asked her ; but- — " 
"You taught her to pronounce Fag-a-bealac." 
" Ah, Tierna ! — were you too in Portland-place ? false 
Celt ! — hollow patriot ! — I blush for you." 


" No ; — I was unemployed. I was curious to ascertain 
the name of an English girl that sang our national songs 
in such brilliant style, — that was all. But she is hand- 
some, you say ?" 

" What, can it be to you, whether she is a Helen or a 
Hecuba, a Miranda or a Sycorax ?" 

" Mere idle curiosity, I admit." 

" "Well, to gratify that laudable feeling, I tell you that 
you never saw or dreamed of anything lovelier in the 
shape of a girl. She has eyes like load-stars. Her 
hair is that which poets rejoice in — the tresses that 
Milton compares to the morn, — that Shakspeare calls ' a 
golden mesh to trap the hearts of men.' Her form is 
that of a nymph — I prefer her mother's, for my theory of 
beauty is, that the attraction is in proportion to the mass ; 
but the daughter's is not to be paragoned in the style of 
figure most orthodox amongst lovers and artists. Then 
her lips — need I tell you that those lips are sweet and 
lovely from which issue notes like the nightingale's. Well, 
Tierna, I have now only to add, that she seems as pure 
as she is fair ; that she is one of those radiant creatures 
who make an atmosphere of light round about them, and 
seem rather angels who have been women, than women 
destined to be angels. Alas ! however, nobody is faultless !" 

" Ah ! now comes the black spot on the disc of your 

"Yes.! black, indeed! She is, Tierna — I grieve to say 
it, — she is — English !" 

" Well, England has few such daughters, if you are a 
nortrait-painter with any pretension to veracity — ■" 

" Tou may see her before you leave for Ireland, if you 


are disposed ; I have an invitation for you from my mag- 
nificent gipsy to dine with her to-morrow." 
" At Mr. Jenkinson's ?" 

" No ; but at Bryanston-square, with the Bompases." 
" "With the Bompases ! — invited by Mrs. Falcon !" 
" Ay, that's the way we do things in gipsy-life ; a new 
mode of living altogether, of which my glorious Egyptian 
is the great inventress ; and, as I am resolved to see the 
system thoroughly developed, I have accepted the invita- 
tion for to-morrow, and you cannot spend your last day in 
London in a more edifying and agreeable manner. Put 
by your Celtic prejudices, and dine with Mrs. Falcon at 
Bompas's." * 

" "Well, I consent." 

" And remember, Mac Morris ! — no more trips to 
Stonehenge !" 


" I love a table furnish 3 d with full plenty, 
And store of friends to eat it ; but with this caution, 
I would not have my house a common hm 
For some men that come rather to devour me, 
Thau to present their services.' 5 



The management by which Mrs. Falcon succeeded in 
giving a dinner to Mr. Moore, at the house and expense 


of the Bompases, is part of the gipsy's secret history, 
which may, perhaps, some day or another be brought to 
light. Probably the Bompas family papers would afford 
some valuable information upon it. It is certain, how- 
ever, that the point was carried ; and equally certain that 
Mrs. Falcon had other objects in view, as well as procuring 
another meeting between her husband and Mr. Charles 
Bompas's pupils. 

The hour arrived — the company arrived, too — there was 
an addition to the immediate family circle of a set of 
"Waddiloves from Monmouthshire, a mother "Waddilove 
and three young Waddiloves — all were at length assem- 
bled, except the illustrious Mr. Tigernach Mac Morris, 
who (being seemingly born to make a sensation in the 
world) was again in the missing list. But now his 
absence was unexplained. Moore could only say that he 
had appointed to call at his friend's chambers to accom- 
pany him to Bryanston-square, and that upon doing so, 
he had found the chambers deserted, and was only an- 
swered by the echo of his own voice, when he repeatedly 
invoked the sonorous name of Tigernach. This fresh 
breach of a solemn convivial engagement, deliberately 
contracted by writing under hand and seal (for the Bom- 
pases had gone through the ceremony of sending cards ta 
Mrs. Falcon's nominees), was, of course, the subject of 
some surprise, and a little good-humoured animadversion. 
The Bompas establishment was habitually too irregular 
to justify severe remark on a social delinquency, which in 
other houses would have been considered a grave one. 
Some concluded that Mac Morris was a lover ; some that 
he was a poet ; others that he belonged to the third cate- 


gory of those who are said to be " of imagination all com- 
pact." As to Moore, he could hardly help suspecting 
that his friend Tierna had discovered the title of Ireland 
to the pyramids of Egypt, and had started for the Nile as 
abruptly as he had taken his trip to Stonehenge. The 
fair Emily laughed at herself for feeling some little disap- 
pointment at the non-appearance of our hero, whom she 
seemed fated never to meet. His absence, however, only 
piqued her curiosity the more, ' and tended to heighten 
the romantic opinion she had been led to form of his cha- 
racter ; it was evident he was none of the vulgar lumi- 
naries that move in their hum-drum orbits, and keep their 
appointments like Sunday-citizens, but some devious and 
sublimer phenomenon, superior to the common law of the 
firmament, and only obeying the impulse of its own fiery 
and meteoric nature. 

The conversation turning after dinner upon the various 
fopperies of the day, the youthful political coteries existing 
in most parts of Europe were a good deal discussed and 
ridiculed. Mr. Bompas remarked that the claim set up 
by those juvenile cliques to pre-eminence and precedency 
in the public councils was a practical reversal of the fifth 
commandment, which asserts the right of the old to the 
deference and homage of the young. 

" And oddly enough," said Moore, "it is a Jewish pen 
that has been most industrious in shaking the authority 
of the great article of the Jewish code to which you allude." 

" "We do not read," said Charles Bompas, " of a Young 
Israel in sacred history." 

" Perhaps that may be the true import of the phrase 
children of Israel," said Mr. De Goslyn, a lively young 


man, who having written much nonsense verse at Eton, 
and read much nonsense prose at Oxford, aspired on the 
strength of his academic attainments, supported by the 
dazzling whiteness of his waistcoats, to represent the 
borough of High- Cocking, on Disraelitish or Young 
England principles. 

" I fear," observed Charles Bompas, the pleader, "this 
coxcombry has no pretensions to antiquity : the old Greeks 
were directed by their greybeards, Nestor and Ulysses ; 
they had a rude notion of some connexion between ripe- 
ness of years and maturity of judgment." 

"Had there been a Young Greece," said Moore, " Te- 
lemachus would have been president of the council, or 
one of the little Agamemnons ; Nestor and Ulysses might 
have played push-pin." 

" The principle, however," said Mr. De Goslyn, "may 
be seen clearly enough in the Grecian mythology : there 
you find all the moving powers of the world represented 
by the stripling gods, Mercury, Cupid, Apollo, Bacchus — 
eloquence, love, music, wine — Yoimg Olympus !" 

" There was evidently no young Italy in the palmy 
days of Bome," said Mr. Bompas, "for the senate was 
composed of fathers." 

" Maxima debetur puero reverentia," said De Goslyn. 
" I have quoted that line in my address to the electors of 

" But we are forgetting Ireland," said Mr. Bompas, 
" and your expedition, Mr. Ealcon — Mr. Moore will be 
happy, I have no doubt, to give you a hint or two." 

" I ought to visit the round towers, I presume," said 
Ealcon, to commence the conversation. 


" They were fire-temples, were they not ?" said De 


" No, belfries, I'm told," said Chatworth. 

" My belief is," said Moore, "they were some enor- 
mous job of the day, like the Martello-towers of later 
times ; every age in Ireland had its characteristic job. 
To inquire into the use of those towers is idle : — however, 
I trust they belong to a Pagan era, for it is rather hard 
to assign all the abuses of Ireland to the ages of Chris- 

" I mean to pay great attention to the picturesque," 
said Ealcon ; " Ireland abounds with it, does it not r" 

" Yes," replied Moore, "if you are fond of lakes and 
mountains, torrents and waterfalls, you will find a great 
deal to charm you in Kerry, "Wicklow, and many parts of 
Connaught ; but the moral scenery of Ireland is the 
thing that will interest an enlightened traveller, Mr. Fal- 
con, like you." 

" The moral scenery !" 

" Our ecclesiastical Switzerland, for instance — there you 
will see the awful solitudes, and the lordly heights, a 
chain of dignities, peak above peak, from canonry to pre- 
bend, from prebend to deanery, until you reach the region 
of the Hautes Alpes, and gaze on the mitred top of pri- 
macy itself. That is the Alpine prospect for me : I think 
very little of Killarney and Connemara." 

" A dangerous country to live in, your ecclesiastical 
Switzerland," said Mr. Eompas. 

" Tes ; subject to political thunder-storms," continued 
Moore, " and the fall of a moral avalanche occasionally ; 
but if nations will have picturesque institutions, they must 



run the risks, and pay the price of them." — Mr. Falcon's 
next inquiry was about the Irish jaunting-cars. 

" Travel by the jaunting-cars," said Moore, " by all 
means ; but let me give you the same advice that Arch- 
bishop Whately is said to have given to Earl De Grey. 
Always secure the box-seat ; the advantage is that you 
see all round you, and both sides of the landscape 5 
otherwise you only observe the side upon which you 
happen to be seated, and that is the reason why people in 
Ireland have such a habit of taking one-sided views. 
There is the "Whig side of the country, and the Tory side ; 
■ — if you sit on the Whig side, you can't see the Tory 
side, and if you sit on the Tory side, you can't see the 
Whig side ; — do you sit in the middle, and take an im- 
partial survey ; see both sides. Tou will find the rule a 
good one, both in the figure and the letter." 

" Lord De Grey did not act upon it, I believe," said 
Mr. Bompas. 

" No ; he took a drive through the estates of the 
Church, for example, with a few mitres in his pocket to 
distribute to men of piety and worth ; but he only saw 
the worthies on the Tory side of the road, just because he 
would not sit on the box-seat, although it was the proper 
place for a Chief Governor." — Meanwhile, Mrs. Falcon 
was transacting business in the drawing-room ; she was 
as full of ways and means as a Chancellor of the Exche- 
quer, and not much more conscientious than a French 
farmer-general under the old regime, or an Irish county- 
treasurer down to a very recent period. — The kind in- 
terest which the gipsy took in the education and accom- 


plishments of Mrs. Bompas's daughters won the heart of 
that excellent lady, who considered Mrs. Falcon a high 
authority on all matters of fashion and taste. 

" Tour girls- are perfectly charming, my dear Mrs. 
Bompas : I never saw girls so much improved ; Dorothy 
is getting quite a distinguished air, and Lydia has your 
own soyez-tranquille manner that I do so much admire." 

This compliment to Miss Lydia Bompas was well de- 
served; and her fond mother found no fault with the 
Trench in wbich it was so felicitously couched. If ever 
a pair of young ladies was made of vegetable marrow, it 
was Dorothy and Lydia Bompas ; and if, as mathemati- 
cians say, the sphere is the most perfect of figures, neither 
of them need have shrank from comparison with the 
Venus de Medicis herself. 

" I am delighted to see they are still paying attention 
to their music," resumed the gipsy, glancing at the open 
piano, littered with ballads and sonatas. 

" Oh ! no, indeed — my girls have no taste for music. 
Dorothy has no voice, and Lydia hates playing. I some- 
times think her fingers are too fat. Lydia, love, show 
Mrs. Falcon your fingers.' ' And Lydia held up a nice little 
bunch of short stumpy parsnips, in admirable keeping 
with her form of vegetable marrow. 

" What a pretty hand !" exclaimed Mrs. Falcon : " but 
I won't hear of their neglecting their music : they have 
such Italian voices," — then she paused, and seemed struck 
by a sudden thought — " I wish you had Signor Vocalini 
for a few lessons ; but he is so full, in such demand — do 
you know, I think, through Lady Middleton, I could 

M 2 


manage it ; and perhaps I may also be able to get Mr. 
Skipton to give you an hour occasionally in the Polka — it 
might be only once a week." 

" My dear Mrs. Falcon, it is very good of you to think 
of it, but it would be no use : my poor girls are too fat to 
dance : and they are going mad, you must know, about 

"Geology! — nonsense — what good will geology do 
them at Almack's, or when they begin to go to the 
Queen's drawing-room? And, as for being too fat to 
dance, fat girls, my dear Mrs. Bompas, always dance 
best — they step so lightly. There are the Puddicomes 
— I never saw such a fat family — but it is the prettiest 
thing in the world to see them dancing : they gave a 
soiree dansante one morning the season before last — don't 
you remember, Emily r" 

" The idea of any of us going to Almack's, or the 
Queen's drawing-rooms!" exclaimed poor Mrs. Bompas, 
expressing her sincere unambitious feeling, and believing 
31 rs. Ivilron to be perfectly serious. 

" Of course you will, with your fortune and your 
daughters' figures ; at all events, music and dancing are 
absolutely indispensable — but here comes Mr. Bompas ; 
I must interest him in Signor Vocalini." 

"What is he?" asked Bompas, planting himself gal- 
lantly beside the most unscrupulous of fine women. 

" I'll tell you what he is," replied the gipsy, putting 
on all her blandishments ; " a liberal— a radical— a patriot 
—a man after your own heart. I am not sure that he did 
not stab somebody at Bologna. At all events, he is the 
best singing-master in London; such a delicious basso- 


relievo ! Now you must promise me to engage him for 
your charming daughters." — Bompas's eyes met Chat- 
worth's instinctively. 

" An Italian, a patriot, an assassin, and a lasso-relievo 
— come, Bompas, you must patronise him." 

"I never shut my door in the face of an exile," said 
the liberal and benevolent ex-legislator, warmed by his 
wine, and more than commonly genial and pliant ; " but 
when Italian patriotism comes introduced by English 
beauty " 

" Ah, Mr. Bompas ! — you are a dangerous man!" ex- 
claimed Mrs. Falcon, having secured a first-rate Italian 
music-master for her little daughter, and now looking and 
simpering as if a conquest had been made of herself. 

" But, papa, we are going to the Bhine, remember," 
exclaimed Miss Dorothy Bompas, rolling up tenderly to 
her benevolent father, and kissing him with might and 

" That's true, Bompas," said Chatworth, recollecting 
the conversation of a previous day, and a certain pro- 
phecy he had ventured to make in the course of it. " Take 
my advice : take your tour first, and your lessons in sing- 
ing and dancing afterwards." 

" "We'll think of it," said the ex-senator, with a hesi- 
tation that evidently augured nothing adverse to his 
daughter's wishes. 

" How important the German language is at the pre- 
sent day !" said Chatworth, addressing himself to Mrs. 
Falcon, who assented drily, evidently disconcerted at a 
change of arrangement which looked so unfavourable to 
her daughter's education. 


" Then the tales of the Ehine are so enchanting," con- 
tinued Chatworth, now addressing the young lady herself, 
" so romantic beyond anything in the ' Arabian Nights,' 
or the ' Fairy Tales.' You will be as happy as the day is 

" Oh, but, sir, I am not going," said little Paulina, 

" Not going ! Yes, you are going ! "Why not ? What 
would your young friends do without you ?" 

" That's true, indeed," cried both the Bompas girls, 
with one accord. 

" She would like to go well enough, I dare say," said 
the gipsy ; " but we cannot always do what we like, Mr. 

" Oh, mamma, I would like to go of all things," ex- 
claimed Paulina, with enthusiasm. 

Mr. Bompas looked thoughtful, but benevolent. " You 
will see Hatto's Tower. Hatto was the wicked bishop 
that was eaten up by the rats and mice, you know," re- 
sumed Chatworth. 

""What did he do?" cried Willy, suspending opera- 
tions on a plum-cake, to which he had been paying his 
addresses most assiduously. 

" He wouldn't pay his poor-rate." 

" Mamma," said Willy, "will the rats eat papa?" 

" No, my love, I hope not. Why do you ask such a 
foolish question ?" 

" Because, ma, papa said the other day that he never 
paid poor-rate in his life." Master Willy Falcon was 
what the French call an " enfant terrible" 

" Oh," cried Paulina, in a low pathetic tone to her 


new friend and ally, " oh, I should so like to see Hatto's 

"Ask Mr. Bompas to take you," said Chatworth, under his 
breath. — The little girl took his advice without hesitation. 
Mrs. Falcon made a show of opposition, for she thought 
it decent. She managed this kind of thing inimitably ; 
you would almost have thought she was distressed at the 
arrangement, and conferring a favour upon the Bompases, 
instead of accepting one. 

Chatworth edged over to the side of Bompas, and said 
in his ear — " I told you the other day you would take the 
young Falcon touring with you." 

" So you did," said the bounteous Bompas. " You 
can't do better than come along with us ; you are fond 

" I understand it," replied Chatworth. 

" Do you speak it, sir ?" asked Airs. Falcon. 

" I never heard of the Ehenish language," said Mr. 
De Groslyn, stolidly. 

"Dear me!" exclaimed the gipsy. 

" The Johannisberg dialect is the best," said Chatworth. 

" Bemember that, Baulina," said her mother. — Chat- 
worth now began to chat with Mrs. Bompas and her glo- 
bular daughters upon the attractions of their meditated 

" I do not think the girls care much about the scenery," 
said their mother. 

" I do not, at any rate," said Miss Dorothy. 

" Nor I," said her sister Lydia. 

" Have you any books about the Ehine, sir ?" inquired 
Miss Bompas. 


" I have Victor Hugo," said Chatworth. 

" Does he describe the formation of the Delta ?" asked 
one geological girl. 

" Does he agree with Mr. Lyell," asked the other, "on 
the extinct volcanoes on the left bank ? Mr. Lyell ob- 
served quartz pebbles mixed with scoria? in the wall of the 

" And regular strata of graywacke-sandstone," added 
her sister. 

" No, Lydia, conglomerate." 

" Graywacke-sandstone, I am positive, Dorothy." 

"How can you say so, Lydia dear?" said Dorothy, 
kissing her opponent in her graceful, girlish way. 

" Because I know it, Dorothy." 

" I appeal to Mr. Chatworth, who has been there him- 
self. Now didn't you see the conglomerate, sir, at Eoder- 
berg and Mosenberg ?" 

" I can't say that I observed it," said Chatworth. 

" There now, Lydia, you see," 

" But Mr. Chatworth is not a geologist ; I appeal to 
Mr. Falcon." But Mr. Falcon had disappeared, and so 
had the little Waddiloves and Mr. "William Falcon. 

"Where can they have vanished to?" asked several 

" I know," said Miss Lydia Bompas; "Mr. Falcon is 
gone up to the laboratory with my cousins, to make a 
volcano in a geranium-pot." 

"Dear, dear!" exclaimed poor Mrs. Bompas, "now do 
go up, Mr. Bompas, and forbid the volcano." 

" Do, do, Mr. Bompas — I'm nobody, since the children 


learned natural philosophy," cried Mrs. Waddilove, still 
more imploringly. 

"There's no fear," said Bonipas, who, having com- 
fortably deposited himself in the downy depths of the 
easiest chair in the house, next to that which his wife 
occupied, was almost as little disposed to undertake a 
journey to the laboratory as that serene lady was herself. 
" There's no fear — no fear — Mr. Falcon's a scientific man 
— fit to be president of the Eoyal — " Before he could 
pronounce the word "Society," crack went something in 
an upper room, with a noise about the loudness of a 

"There it goes," cried Chatworth, "and a very good 
imitation of Vesuvius, I have no doubt." — The explosion 
was instantly succeeded by the screaming of children, 
barking of lap-dogs, and a precipitate rush of the minute 
philosophers down stairs ; upon which similar outcries 
were raised in the drawing-room, accompanied by a cor- 
responding movement of old people, the violence of which 
may be conjectured by the facts that Mr. Bompas got 
about half-way to the door, and Mrs. Bompas was actually 
on her legs for a few seconds. It was soon found, how- 
ever, that the only harm done was to the carpet and fur- 
niture of the laboratory, where the ingenious Mr. Falcon 
had illustrated Vesuvius so prettily, that he had also 
made a very lively representation of the fate of Pompeii, 
for the room was found covered with dust and ashes to 
the depth of an inch, and there was enough of broken 
china and glass to enable the little "Waddiloves to open a 
museum of volcanic remains the next day. 



Poor Mr. Falcon was so confused by this untoward 
event, that he decamped with an umbrella belonging to 
Mr. Bompas ; and the gipsy was perhaps thrown off her 
centre also, for she begged Mr. De Goslyn (whose 
mother's coach was in attendance upon him) to drop 
herself and her daughters "at home" "on his way to 
Kensington," where old Lady De Goslyn resided. 

The reader unacquainted with the topography of 
London, has only to imagine a voyage from London 
to New York touching at Constantinople, and he will 
then have a fair idea of a drive from Bryanston-square 
to Kensington, taking Portland-place on the way. 


" This is the state of man ; to-day he puts forth 
The tender leaves of hope ; to-morrow blossoms, 
And bears his blushing honours thick upon him ; 
The third day comes a frost, a killing frost, 
And when he thinks, good easy man, full surely 
His greatness is a ripening, nips his root." 

King Henri/ Till. 


On the ensuing morning Dominick Moore was seated 
at breakfast in his chambers, encouraging the efforts of 
the sun with the help of a candle (which was the brighter 
luminary of the two), and pondering in his mind in what 
fresh political freak Mac Morris might be engaged, or 


what new wild-goose he might then be chasing, when the 
door flew open, and Tierna stalked into the dusky apart- 
ment, wrapped in his cloak, looking as wild, woe-begone, 
and ghastly, as if he had just made his escape from 
Spenser's cave of Despair. Dominick dropped his knife 
and beheld his associate with alarm, for it was evident 
that his distress was unaffected, and his excitement 

" Grood G-od, Tierna, what has happened ? — what ails 
you ? — you look ill — you have not slept !" 

"No!" said Mac Morris, with a hollow voice. "Do- 
minick, read that !" And he put a letter into Moore's 
hand, which he instantly recognised to be the hand- 
writing of old Mac-Ever-Boy. 

Moore read it with as much haste as the chirography 
admitted of, for the despatch was written in a style of 
penmanship that indicated a writer more familiar with 
warlike tools than with literary weapons. The purport, 
however, was as follows. 

Mr. Vincent Mac Morris, the old chief's brother, and a 
retired merchant of large fortune, alarmed by rumours of 
violent political movements which had reached him, and 
with which his nephew's name was publicly connected, 
had formally announced his resolution to leave every 
shilling of his wealth to a distant branch of the family, 
in case his nephew should be so misguided as to mix 
himself up with the dangerous proceedings in contempla- 
tion, particularly with those of that extreme section, 
whose opinions were promulgated in the columns of the 
" Sun-burst," and which had assumed the title of Toung 
Ireland. As the best security against the political infec- 


tion of the time, Mr. Vincent Mac Morris, wielding the 
influence with, which his riches had invested him, had 
further stipulated that Tierna should remain two years 
longer in England, prosecuting his legal studies. Upon 
these conditions, and upon these alone, a considerahle 
sum of money was to be advanced to discharge a weighty 
incumbrance on the Connaught estate, a further sum con- 
tributed to repair the family residence (an attention that 
Knock-na-G-reenagh Castle had not received for many a 
blustry season), and ultimately every farthing of the pro- 
perty acquired by the labours of the counting-house was 
to be bequeathed to our hero, who would thus, between 
his father's mountains and his uncle's money, enjoy one 
of the handsomest fortunes between the Atlantic and the 

When Dominick had read thus far, he dropped the 
letter, and exclaimed with vehemence, starting up as he 
spoke, " Good Heaven ! and has your father the madness 
to reject these princely offers, to say nothing of their 
prudence ?" 

"Eeject!" cried Tierna, — "he has basely accepted 

"Basely! — basely accepted wealth and — " 

" Infamy !" roared young Mac Morris. 

Moore resumed his seat in silence. 

" My father has sacrificed honour — virtue — Ireland — 
to redeem a mortgage, for the sake of some paltry thirty 
thousand pounds." 

" Ireland !" repeated Dominick, coolly, having been 
wonderfully relieved by the knowledge of the facts. 
" Truly, I know not which more to commiserate, you 


who are to gain your uncle's wealth, a man of sixty, or 
Ireland, which is to lose the nephew's services, a boy of 

" Man or boy, I am lost," said the pale enthusiast, now 
speaking in a low tone that testified the extremity of dis- 
appointment and despondency. Moore, who knew his tem- 
perament and his ambition, who knew also how near Mac 
Morris had just fancied himself to the realisation of his 
dreams of glory and popularity, could not regard him 
without compassion, although there was something almost 
ludicrous in the infatuation that took deliverance for de- 
struction, and saw the depth of distress in the pinnacle 
of fortune. He contemplated his friend with the mingled 
satisfaction and regret with which a parent contemplates 
a child crossed in love of some unworthy object, or the 
pursuit of some fatal scheme. 

" Ruined — blasted," gasped Mac Morris, uttering his 
grief almost inarticulately. 

"Ruined by your redemption," answered Moore, also 
speaking in the lowest audible tone, as if rather com- 
menting in soliloquy upon Tierna's expressions than 
replying to them conversationally ; " blasted by a gale 
from Araby — ruin takes fantastic shapes. Tierna," he 
then added, speaking in still gentler accents, " I am 
grieved that you are distressed, but, I frankly tell you, 
I do not lament your disappointment. I rejoice that you 
have no more serious cause for dejection than the con- 
tents of this letter. Since the path of ambition is stopped 
up, you must strike into another road; there is law — 
there is literature — there is love — " 

" Love !" repeated Mac Morris, with bitter scorn. 


"Ay, love!" cried Moore; "not an un-Irish passiou, 
is it ?" 

" My only love was Ireland ; it has been crossed, and I 
am desolate." 

" Extend your love for Ireland to those who love her— 
to — " And Moore was about to launch out into new 
praises of Miss Falcon ; but Mac Morris interrupted him 
impatiently, and dashing his hand fiercely through his 
curls (which had now, by dint of culture and at much 
vain expense of bear's-grease and Macassar, attained the 
maturity of a full-grown Celtic coiffure*), rushed from 
the chambers. 

Moore gazed after him compassionately for a moment, 
but recollecting the account which Giraldus Cambrensis 
gives of the Celtic character, that it is " constant only in 
inconsistency,"! he rapidly made up his mind to support 
his friend's misfortune with Christian patience ; and taking 
up the old chief's letter, which had fallen on the floor, he 
found upon glancing over the scrawl a second time, a 
passage which was enough of itself to dissipate every 
melancholy feeling. The strenuous old gentleman, by 
way of administering some consolation to his son, an- 
nounced his intention of immediately giving in his own 
adhesion to the Young Ireland party, and taking his 
place in their little senate as the representative of Tiger- 

* Called the " glybbe," and defined by Spenser, "A thick curled 
bush of hair hanging down over the eyes, and monstrously dis- 
guising them." It was probably more protective in battle than 
graceful in the bower. Yet Campion says : " They are proud of 
long crisped glybbes, and doe nourish the same with all their cun- 
ning; to crop the front thereof, they take for a notable piece of 

f " Constantes in levitate." 


nach ; feeling, no doubt, that although sixty years had 
gone over his head, he was still as bold a hobby-horseman 
as the youngest amongst them. 

While Moore was democritising upon this pleasant ad- 
dition to the amusing diableries of the day, his servant 
entered and handed him a note. 

" Ha ! my buxom Egyptian's hand, — if these are not 
commissariat characters, I have no skill in chiromancy ; 
here is the hand of a woman educated in the boarding- 
school, or I should rather say the boarding-house of the 
world ; — who could mistake these pot-hooks ?" 

" Portland-place, Tuesday morning. 
" Dear Mr. Moore, 
" Mr. Falcon leaves town to-night for Dublin, and it just 
occurs to me that you would perhaps be so kind as to give 
him one or two introductions to useful people, as he is 
anxious to see as much as possible of Irish domestic man- 
ners, in fact to see your interesting countrymen and charm- 
ing countrywomen at home as much as possible. He would 
be glad to know some of your rich merchants and bankers, 
a few dignitaries of the Church, and any of the judges or 
aldermen you happen to be intimate with ; now just such 
people as the Bompases, you know; plain, substantial, 
hospitable families, where hewouldget a full insight into the 
state of the country, with a view to his forthcoming travels, 
which he is so full of that he has commenced them already ; 
but he does everything de Tiaut en has, as I often tell him. 
1ST ow do pray excuse the liberty I take, for the sake of my 
poor, dear, scatter-brained husband, who never thinks of 
anything for himself, and believe me, 

" Dear Mr. Moore, yours sincerely, 
" G-eorgina Falcon. 


" P.S. I go down to-morrow, with my son and daughters, 
to Sir Frederick Crozier's, St. Konald's, Herts, where I 
hope to be quiet and comfortable for a few weeks, until I 
hear satisfactory accounts from Mr. Falcon. It would 
give me great pleasure to receive you at St. Bonald's, if 
you could come down for a day or two ; I have no induce- 
ments to offer you but a pretty place and a very hearty wel- 
come. I would ask your friend, Mr. Tiger Mac Morris, to 
accompany you, but Emily tells me he is on the point of 
starting for Ireland." 

" St. Ronald's!" exclaimed Moore, "why that's the seat 
of my Puseyitical and monastic acquaintance, St. John 
Crozier ! Xow, I recollect, he invited me some time 
since to join a little experimental party there this summer, 
on the vocation-to-celibacy principle, in opposition to Mr. 
"Ward. Spirits of anarchy and confusion ! what a sensa- 
tion the appearance of two such women as Mrs. Falcon's 
daughters will make amongst the bachelor monks ! I never 
felt the vocation to celibacy so powerfully as I do this 
moment ; I'll write to my mediaeval friend this very day, 
and bespeak a cell in the convent and a chair in the 
refectory. If we could but get our ' Apocalyptic' to join 
us !* — who knows ? — at any rate, there is promise of a 
merry summer, between Young Ireland, Young England, 
and Young Egypt, personified by Mac Morris, Crozier, 
and the Miss Falcons." 

Moore attended next to the body of the gipsy's note 
and remarked with admiration her nice discernment of 

* " The Apocalyptic" was an appellation borne by the fierce and 
fanatical St. Just. 


the houses into which she desired to gain admission for 
her ravenous and roving husband ; rich bankers, aldermen, 
and dignitaries of the Church ; hospitable people keeping 
family hotels, like the Bompases ! But, then, it was all 
to enable Mr. Falcon to get " an insight into the state of 
the country ;" the gipsy phrase, thought Dominick, for a 
gastronomic investigation of the state of our Irish larders. 
Civility and good-nature, however, required Moore to 
comply, to a certain extent, with Mrs. Falcon's modest 
request, and he set himself accordingly to think how far 
he could, with a clear conscience, abet the designs of Mr. 
Peregrine Falcon. 

" I'll give him letters to Fitz-Fidgett and the Vernon 
Sharpes, at all events," he said, after some consideration; 
" Vernon has a fancy for men with odd characters, odd 
pursuits, odd names, and odd noses ; and should my friend 
Peregrine settle in Dublin eventually with his wife and 
daughters, Mrs. Sharpe would be enchanted to know 
Emily, and just as bappy as I should be myself to see 
her make a conquest of Mac Morris, an event which I do 
not despair of witnessing, sooner or later, amongst the 
pleasant vagaries of the day. I'll write to Mrs. Vernon 
Sharpe, as well as ber husband, and tell her the whole story 
of Emily, Tigernach, and Fag-a-lealac." 

As soon as Moore had written his letters he despatched 
them with a short note to the gipsy, in which he thanked 
her politely for her kind invitation to Sir Frederick 
Crozier's country-seat, and accepted it in the gayest and 
heartiest manner. His next step was to write to Mr. St. 
John Crozier, which he did in another style, as devout and 
monkish as he could adopt, saying that he had been 



maturely reflecting upon the importance of reviving 
monastic establishments, particularly with a view to the 
promotion and encouragement of celibacy, and requesting 
permission to join the experimental party, if all the cells 
were not already engaged. 

On the same evening, a hackney-coach might have been 
seen standing at a door in Portland-place, destined to 
convey the Falcon family to the London terminus of the 
Grand Junction Railway, which was to a certain extent 
the common route of the male Falcon, winging his way 
to Ireland, and the female bird, proposing to seize a com- 
fortable nest about twenty miles from the metropolis. 
The luggage was secured, the travellers were seated, and 
the coachman was directed to proceed. 

"Stop !" cried a female domestic; and running up to 
the door of the carriage, she inquired, with a respectful 
timidity, if by any chance Mrs. Falcon could have taken 
a black silk cloak lined with furs, belonging to Mrs. 
Jenkinson, in place of one of her own. 

The gipsy coolly examined a spacious mantilla answer- 
ing the maid's description, in which she had comfortably 
wrapped herself, and it certainly did turn out that one of 
those unaccountable mistakes had been committed which 
Mrs. Falcon had been in the habit of committing all her 

"I positively had a black silk cloak, very like that, 
once ; had I not, Emily ?" demanded the gipsy, sternly, 
as the coach drove off. 

" I don't remember, mamma," replied her daughter 
who had all the conscience of the family. 



" Phidippus. — Woe is me ! 
Hew shall I deal with this old crazy father ? 
What course pursue with one, whose reason wanders 
Out of all course ? Shall I take out the statute. 
And cite him for a lunatic ; or wait 
Till nature and his frenzy, with the help 
Of the undertaker, shall provide a cure ?" 

The Clouds of Aristophanes : Cumberland' s translation. 




In the coffee-room of the Innisfallen Hotel, in one of 
the leading streets of Dublin, at about seven o'clock in 
the evening of the second day after Tigernach Mac 
Morris received the afflicting blow already recorded, 
were seated at opposite sides of a small square table, 
two gentlemen of advanced years, neither having pro- 
bably seen fewer than sixty summers. They were now 
disposing of the remnant of a temperate pint of Sherry, 
with perhaps a prospective eye to a sober bottle of port, 
or claret, as might in due time be agreed between them. 

The one was a large, bony, fierce man, with a fiery face, 
bushy red hair, overgrown whiskers of the same igneous 
hue, pugnacious eyes (reddish also), shaggy brows, a vivid 
green coat with enormous buttons, embossed with harps 
and shamrocks, coarse, loose, white corduroys, and a pair . 



of top-boots, which told an unvarnished tale of a hard 
day's ride, or perhaps a steeple-chase. The appearance of 
his companion was so very different, that it was not easy 
to conceive by what accident he could have been thrown 
into such rough society. He was sedate and solemn, with 
something of the air of an ecclesiastic ; partly, perhaps, 
because he was attired in black, partly because his car- 
riage was severe and dignified, his complexion very pale, 
and his hair, which had once been black, just slightly 
touched with silver. The former was the father, the 
latter the uncle, of our Celtic hero. 

" Shane, have you heard from Tierna ?" asked Vincent, 
with a slow, distinct voice, but in a hollow tone, which, 
coupled with the delicacy of his complexion, argued a 
weak, perhaps a declining state of health. 

" No! I have not," replied Shane, ■with a husky, con- 
vulsive, guttural delivery, the agreeable elocution of a 
man with a harsh voice, improved by a heavy cold. 

"I entertain high hopes, Mac Morris, of that boy; 
believe me he is where, all things considered, it is most 
for his advantage that he should be ; expanding and in- 
vigorating his mind, with examples of industrious and 
practical men before his eyes ; for, you must admit, 

"I don't admit," coughed the red man, " I know what 
you are driving at, Vincent ; I know how you talk of us 
— buffoons and maniacs ; I'm one of the buffoons and 
maniacs myself, perhaps," and he pulled down a handful 
of his wild, red locks over his eyes, and began to contem- 
plate with surly satisfaction the lumpish repeal buttons 
upon the sleeve of his green coat. 


"I did not mean, Shane," replied Vincent, evidently- 
indisposed to conflict, " to say a word disrespectful to you 
or any other repealer. No, I referred only to the insane 
proceedings and the violent spirit of the extreme party — 
that modest and rational clique of young gentlemen who 
style themselves Young Ireland." 

" By this hand, I'm one of that modest and rational 
clique myself." 

" Tou, Shane !" cried Vincent, in astonishment, and a 
slight twinkle of humour in his calm, grey eye. 

" By the powers, I am ; make the most of it," repeated 
Shane, with the dogged air of a man conscious of some 
prodigious extravagance, but determined and prepared to 
brazen it out. 

"I can make nothing of it," returned Vincent, "ex- 
cept that every pantomime requires a Pantaloon ; but it 
is rather too late, is it not, to turn your back on old 
Ireland at sixty- three ?" 

" Only sixty." 

" Pardon me, sixty-three. I shall be sixty-two next 
month ; my old age is not a green one, like yours, Mac- 

" I suppose I'm free to think and act as I please," 
grumbled old Young Ireland, growing surlier. 

" Pree ! there can be no question about your freedom ; 
there may be a question about mine. I sometimes fear 
that I shall end my days in an asylum opened by lunatics 
for people of sane mind ; confined in the common-sense 
ward of a madhouse for reasonable people. I suppose it 
is full moon, for I am such a maniac this moment, that I 
think you out of your wits." 


" You have it all your own way with Tierna, Vincent ; 
leave me alone, I know what I'm about." 

"I rejoice," said Vincent, "that your interest, Shane, 
coincides with my wishes on one important point. "What- 
ever Tierna's views may now be, young and raw as he is, 
I trust the progress of time will ripen his judgment, 
instead of making it greener; and as there is as much 
propriety in a boy siding with a greybeard, as in a grey- 
beard deserting to the boys, I shall cherish the hope that 
my nephew, when he appears in public life, will take the 
part of Old Ireland, and prove a good Whig Catholic 

" God forbid !" grumbled the old red chief. " But a 
bargain's a bargain, so let him stay in England ; I have 
made up my mind to take his place ; I only hope he'll not 
be after falling in love with any of your pale-faced Saxon 
dolls. I hate the Saxons, by this hand, as I do the seven 
mortal sins." 

"More, perhaps," said Vincent, quietly. 

" Perhaps I do, then," growled his brother. 

" "Well, Tierna will mind his studies ; he is not thinking 
of matrimony." 

" By the sun in heaven, if he were to bring over a 
Saxon wife with him, and she was as lovely as the Vanus 
in green marble, at the exhibition of Celtic arts, I'd 
break every stick on my property on him, and disinherit 
him afterwards." 

" Tou will find a little difficulty in executing that threat, 
Shane, owing to the fact, that there has not been a stick 
upon the land of Knock-na-Greenagh within the memory 
of the oldest man living." 


"There are sticks in the county — there are sticks 
in Ireland." 

"Don't excite yourself, there's no fear of Tierna's 
going astray; he'll keep his heart for a wild Irish girl, 
if the race is not extinct. I suppose you have some 
specimens left in those woods of yours, Shane, eh ?" 

Old Mac-Ever-Boy would probably have returned a 
blustering answer, if his attention had not been solicited 
by a gentleman who uow entered the coffee-room, with a 
white hat, an umbrella in his hand, a great coat on 
his arm, and followed by a waiter carrying a carpet-bag. 

"An arrival from England!" said Vincent, perceiving, 
by the few words which the gentleman addressed to 
the attendant, that his accent was English. 

" One of our Saxon law-givers, for a thousand pounds !" 
muttered old Shane. 

"He looks more like a poet," said Vincent; "or 
the next poorest thing, a curate." 

" Look at his nose ! — there's a Norman nose ! Listen 
to him ordering dinner — Saxon all over — the first thing 
he thinks of before he sees the country, — before he 3ees 
our institutions." 

" Come, Mac Morris, let him dine first, and see the 
country and the institutions afterwards. It's a natural 
arrangement, I think. Saxon and Celt must dine ; it is 
the common law of nations, tacitly admitted, if not 
expressly laid down by Vattel and Grotius." 

" Trust the Sassenach dogs for dining ! Zounds, Vin- 
cent, look at the miscreant's note-book!" 

" Well, he's going— do be calm !" And the red-nosed 
stranger, having completed his directions to the waiter, 


rose, and going to a table where lay several hats, selected 
one, put it deliberately on his head, and advanced towards 
the door, Mac-Ever-Boy all the time watching him like a 

"That's my hat, sir," he cried, springing up with 
a roar, like a tiger out of a jungle, as poor Mr. Falcon 
(for the red nose and the note-book have, doubtless, 
already betrayed him) was passing within a yard of his 

" Shane, be quiet, the gentleman has made a mistake, 
the commonest in the world," said Vincent, with some 

" That hat's mine, sir," roared Shane, a second time, 
for the Bed Rover was stunned, and scarcely knew whether 
it was his hat or his Russia ducks, that he was called on to 
surrender, in the tones of Stentor with a bad cough. 
The second blast, however, brought him to his senses, 
and he was only too glad to restore old Mac Morris 
his hat, and make his escape from the coffee-room, leaving 
his own behind him too. 

"Did you ever see such a cawbeen?" cried Shane, 
examining it. " "We wouldn't glaze a cottage window 
with it in the West.* So, Freeman is his name ; he was 
making free enough with my hat, so he was, the Saxon 

Shane next proceeded to scrutinise the stranger's 
umbrella, upon which he found the alias of Bompas, 

* The Celts glazed the windows of their picturesque cottages 
with felt. Many traces of this civilised practice are still visible 
in the rural districts of Ireland, but the barbarous innovation of 
glass has made deplorable progress of late years. \ '. 


which certainly tended to warrant his suspicion that the 
design npon his hat had been of a felonious nature. 

A waiter now entered with a huge parcel directed 
to Mr. Mac Morris, and deposited it, by his directions, on 
the table before him. Shane inquired who owned the 
white hat and the red nose, using, at the same time, 
some very opprobrious terms with reference to the Saxon 
and Norman races. 

" He has entered himself, sir, in the book as a Mr. 
Falcon ; but Boots says his real name is Duckworth, for 
that's the name on his portmanteau." 

"Duckworth, Bompas, Freeman, Falcon!" cried old 
Mac Morris. " Why the fellow must be one of the 
swell-mob ; take care of your forks and spoons, I advise 

"I should say," said Vincent, "he is merely an eccen- 
tric, and an absent man." 

Had Shane Mac-Ever-Boy Mac Morris but known or 
dreamed that this same English adventurer (with the red 
nose, the note-book, and the four surnames, and who had, 
moreover, to crown his enormities, made so cool an 
attempt to purloin his hat) was the father of a girl whose 
voice had bewitched his son in London, and laid the 
foundation of a sway destined to outlive the influences of 
ambition, and the prejudices of race and country, it is 
likely that Mr. Peregrine Falcon would have met that 
evening with signal discouragement to prolong his stay in 
the green isle, or at least at the Innisfallen Hotel. 

Mac Morris now opened the parcel which had been laid 
on the table, and the eye of Vincent was immediately 
caught by an object of a violent yellow colour. 


" Curtains, I presume, for your state apartments," he 
remarked ; " the colour is too bright, I should say." 

" Curtains !" growled Shane ; " they're not curtains ;" 
and as he spoke, he unfolded at full length one of the 
pieces, receding from the table for a space of several 
yards ; but Vincent, although he saw that the material 
was linen, and that the labour of the needle had been in 
requisition, was unable to form the remotest idea what 
such an enormous expanse of yellow stuff could be. 
Shane was examining the object minutely, and with 
manifest anxiety, as if he had his doubts of its answer- 
ing its purpose, whatever that purpose was. 

""What is it, Shane, if it's not a curtain?" inquired his 

" A shirt, to be sure ; did you never see a shirt ?" 

'• A shirt ! that a shirt ! — a yellow shirt ! Explain." 

"It's not yellow — it's saffron." 

" Saffron ! but a saffron shirt ! "What is it for ?" 

" "What are shirts for ? — 'faith, Vincent, I think we 
must be after putting you up in airnest." 

" But shirts of that size and colour. You are not the 
Colossus of Ehodes ; a set of shirts might be made out of 
one of those, and every shirt would support a commission 
of lunacy — a yellow shirt ! who ever wore shirts of that 
colour ?" 

" Tour ancestors and mine, then, Vincent. Did you 
ever hear of one Harry the Eighth, and a law he made on 
the subject of shirts ?" 

"I did," replied Vincent, lowering his voice and throw- 
ing himself back resignedly in his chair — " I did. I was 
dullj-but now I remember all about it ;" and he sat musing 


in profound silence for a minute or two, twirling his 
thumbs, and gazing fixedly at his brother, while the latter 
was occupied folding up his prodigious garment, and 
replacing it in the parcel. Vincent then said gravely, 
regarding Shane with a calm, steady eye, " Tou don't 
mean to appear in public with a shirt like that on your 

" By this hand that was never christened, but I do 
though !" replied the magnanimous Shane, "and what's 
more, I'll be the first man in Ireland to mount it ; my 
mantle is not made, or by this hand, I'd appear to-morrow 
morning in the full-dress of my forefathers." 

" Take care, Shane, that the mantle does not conceal 
too much of the shirt, and take care too, that your hat 
does not prevent the public from recognising in that 
forest of hair over your temples, th'e glories of the ancient 
glybbe. Tou see I know something about the Celtic 

" "Wait till you see it complete ; stay in town a day or 
two longer and I'll astound you. I'll have the yellowest 
shirt, the biggest mantle, and the bravest glybbe in the 

" No, Shane," said Vincent, now speaking with anima- 
tion and severity, while at the same time he rose to retire, 
" I shall not stay in Dublin, or in Ireland, to witness the 

* Spenser with his barbarous English notions has left a vivid 
description of what he calls the " three Scythian abuses'-' of the 
glybbe, the mantle, and the saffron shirt. See his " State of Ire- 
land." The shirt contained thirty ells of yard-wide linen, accord- 
ing to Moryson. The statute of Henry VIII. not only prohibited 
the use of the saffron dye, but restricted the quantity of stuff to 
seven yards. Campion tells us that in his time the Celtic gentle- 
men were beginning to wash their shirts. 


frenzy and the shame of the head of our ancient family. 
Again, I thank God, your son is not here to witness your 
extravagance, and be ruined by your example. No, before 
you make day hideous with your gallow-glass's shirt, your 
wood-kern's cloak, and that horse-boy's rug on your fore- 
head, I shall be as far from the theatre of your antic 
tricks as wave and steam can bear me. I shall not remain 
to see white linen exploded along with common sense, 
and a country which stands more in need of sage councils 
and temperate direction than any other in the world, 
distracted and misguided by presuming boyhood and 
ridiculous dotage." 


: I know them, yea, 

And what they weigh, even to the utmost scruple, 
Scrambling, out-facing, fashion-mongering boys, 
That talk and brag and rave, declaim and vapour, 
Go antickly and show an outward hideousness, 
And speak off half a dozen dangerous words, 
How they might hurt their enemies, if they durst ; 
And this is all." 

Much Ado About Nothing. 


The leaders of Young, or Celtic Ireland, in the absence 
of Tigernach Mac Morris, were Virus Verdaunt, the 
Brehon, and Amyrald O'Harper, the Bard. Both were 
orators, statesmen, tribunes, patriots, and a generous 


ambition of the honours and emoluments of martyrdom 
actuated both. Virus was the fiercer of the two ; his 
locks were insurgent, his eye incendiary, his voice like 
a storm upon a moor. In debate he was a Boreas, while 
Amyrald was more of a Zephyr. About Verdaunt there 
was nothing sentimental ; he was fierce, blunt, and down- 
right; pugnacious without chivalry, and wild without 
romance. O'Harper, on the contrary, had more of the 
character of young Mac Morris ; he could colour revolu- 
tion with the hues of poetry, and worship the Graces 
occasionally as well as the Puries. In person, too, he 
somewhat resembled our hero, while his Brehon associate 
was as Celtic in his features as his principles ; his hair 
was as fiery as his politics, and he was proud of a nose 
that had nothing of the eagle and something of the 

On the same night, but some hours later than the scene 
recorded in the last chapter, Verdaunt and O'Harper met 
by agreement in College Green, under the shadow of that 
stately building which was once the Senate-House and is 
now the Bank of Ireland. 

" "We are now joint-leaders, Amyrald," said the Brehon, 
commencing the conversation. 

"Ay!" replied the bard, "and it will need a stout 
heart and a bold step to follow our leading, I promise 


"Daring, not extravagant," said Verdaunt, "such 
should be the character of our policy. I shall raise the 
Stonehenge question in the Hall of Clamour, on the next 
day of meeting." 

" It will make a prodigious sensation," said Amyrald. 


"Would that Mac Morris were here to proclaim it 

" Mac Morris has some good points," said Verdaunt; 
"hut he was always too practical a man for me." 

" "Well, I confess I think his idea of Stonehenge re- 
deems him ; you and I have been hunting for sentimental 
grievances for twelve months, and we never thought of 

" Oh, I had it on my list ; but I thought it right to 
exhaust our traditional wrongs, before we broached our 
historical grievances." 

" Believe me, Brehon, the absence of Mac Morris im* 
poses heavy responsibilities upon us." 

" Believe me, bard, we shall neither shrink from them, 
nor sink under them. For my part, I feel like Atlas." 

" And I like Beelzebub." 

" To-morrow we constitute the committees. We have 
much to settle, and more to unsettle. I shall take the 
chair of the Committee of Disorganisation myself ; will 
you preside in the other ?" 

" Organisation ! No, I have no turn for it ; leave it to 
Hurly O'Burly, or Sir Hurry Scurry." 

" Well, let it be Hurly O'Burly. I'll keep an eye over 
the proceedings myself." ■-»' 

" Do you think the two committees necessary P Might 
they not be consolidated with advantage ?" 

"Not a bad notion, Amyrald; they have certainly a 
common object ; let it be so. Remember we meet early 
to-morrow (you know where), to complete our military 
arrangements, and decide definitively on the costume. Let 


us now retire; those Saxon sentinels have their san- 
guinary eyes upon us ; but ere six months elapse, I 
pledge myself to relieve their guard with a regiment of 
Heavy Gallow-glasses, or a corps of Light "Wood-Kerns. 
Amyrald, good night! To-morrow!" They separated; 
but in a moment Verdaunt returned on his steps, and 
called after his young comrade. 

" Amyrald, although I do not attach the same conse- 
quence that you do to the absence of Tierna Mac Morris, 
believe me, I sympathise with him deeply, knowing his 
enthusiastic devotion to our cause ; and besides, I cannot 
overlook the fact, that he is detained against his will in 
England, by the tyrannical interference of his base Whig 
uncle. "Were it merely to deter old Ireland from such 
despotic proceedings in future, I am of opinion that the 
wrong of Tigernach ought to be revenged !" 

"Eevenge!" cried the excited minstrel, firing at the 

"Eevenge !" was repeated, in a low hollow tone. 

" An echo from yon portico," said Verdaunt. 

" No !" cried Amyrald, with rapture, " it was no echo ; 
it was the voice of the Spirit of the Cause ; I am familiar 
with it ; it often talks with me !" 

" Think of what I have said." 

" Eevenge !" was the only answer the bard returned, 
and again either the echo from the vestibule of the Bank, 
or the voice of the spirit of the Celtic cause, reiterated, 

" The coxcomb !" exclaimed Verdaunt to himself, as he 
went his way ; " the notion of any spirit talking with a 



drivelling rhymer like him ! I'll make use of these bards, 
and then, by the four elements, I'll crush them without 

" Moon and stars !" cried O'Harper, " but there goes a 
conscientious Brehon ! He hates Mac Morris in his soul, 
but he has no objection to borrow his thunder ; he wishes 
to punish old Vincent, out of sheer selfishness, to intimi- 
date his own father. Oh, these Brehons ! — the Lord 
deliver us from these Brehons !" 

Amyrald O'Harper dwelt, as became an aspiring son 
of song, as close to the stars as he well could, next door 
neighbour to Ursa Major, in a habitation by men called a 
garret, but known to Celtic spirits by the poetical desig- 
nation of the Eagle's Nest. It was situated in a street of 
historical celebrity, an ancient thoroughfare of Dublin 
city, named after St. James, the apostle ; and what the 
residence wanted in fashion and elegance, was amply 
repaid to its ambitious tenant in the glorious insurrec- 
tionary recollections of 1803. 

Two or three chairs, crazy as the cause in which he was 
embarked — a table out of joint, like the times — a cup- 
board that held a few green books, and a bookcase con- 
taining some relics of shattered glass and dilapidated 
porcelain, constituted the principal furniture of the main 
apartment. Carpet there was none, although many a 
bold design had there been on the tapis; but, to com- 
pensate this deficiency, the room was thickly and classi- 
cally curtained by the labours of Arachne, time out of 
mind the bard's upholsterer. There was stained glass, 
too, in abundance, the work of the wind and rain, which 
had deeply crusted the windows with dust, teaching light 


to counterfeit a gloom as effectually, if not as beautifully, 
as the most delicious coloured panes that ever the hand of 
puritanic Vandalism demolished. Over the fireplace, or 
rather the place for a fire (for Amyrald warmed himself 
oftener at the shrines of Apollo than at the fanes of 
Vulcan), was hung a full-length portrait of the desperate 
and hapless Robert Emmet, with smaller pictures of the 
two Sheareses gibbeted, one upon each side, not for a 
warning, however, but a model to the enterprising youth 
of Ireland. The naked walls of the chamber were adorned 
in other places with prints of Lord Edward Eitzgerald, 
Wolfe Tone, and several more illustrious patterns for the 
juvenile patriots of the day, who had been too long de- 
based and corrupted by the drivelling doctrine of moral 
force, and were now to be imbued with the nobler lesson 
of faith in the armed hand, and contempt for unbloody 
laurels. No doubt it was to make the contrast between 
the two principles more impressive, that a bust of the 
Liberator had been deposed from a pedestal which still 
retained his name, and flung upon the floor in a corner, 
amongst bundles of old "Sun-bursts," reams of abortive 
ballads, the despicable works of Hume and Eobertson, a 
mouse-trap, a tinder-box, a sprig of shillelagh, and an 
article of cutlery that might have been a poker, or might 
have been a pike. In another corner (deposited with the 
care and respect due to the emblem of the country, and, 
next to the sword, the great instrument of her deliverance 
from Saxon thraldom) stood the rude harp or clarshech 
of the statesman-bard, evidently not disused, though 
wanting a chord or two, as if in some fit of poetic 
frenzy, or transport of political indignation, he had torn 



asunder the wires, like Ms frantic prototype in Moore s 

It was to this rude and wind-rocked retreat that 
O'Harper now returned, scarcely expecting to find his 
single attendant, Caravat Shanavest, awake, or sufficiently 
uninfluenced by usquebaugh, or the fumes of some other 
Celtic liquor, to admit him ; but Caravat upon this occa- 
sion agreeably disappointed his master, and the bard had 
scarcely thrice thundered at the door of his lodging, before 
it was opened to receive him by as wild a figure in a white 
shirt as ever presided in an agrarian court of Common 
Pleas, or delivered a practical lecture upon the law of 
Landlord and Tenant. 

Caravat Shanavest was to Amyrald partly what Ealpho 
was to Hudibras, and partly what the "orphan boy " was 
to the last of the minstrels in Scott's romantic lay. He 
groomed the bard's hobby, when he went campaigning 
with his party, and he carried his wild harp before him 
when Amvrald attended a musical festival at Tara of the 
Kings, or went straying or coshering through the "Wick- 
low mountains, or the passes of the Graltees, making hill 
and valley vocal with the sorrows and glories of his 
country. In addition to these functions, Caravat held the 
offices of valet, butler, and secretary in the bardic esta- 
blishment ; in the capacity of valet, having the custody of 
one suit of clothes and twice that number of shirts ; as 
butler, charged with a choice cellaret of pure usquebaugh 
and generous Benecarlo : while in the third and highest 
character, he registered the poet's correspondence, cor- 
rected the proofs of his countless works in prose and 
rhyme, and occasionally did a little poetical journey-work 


himself, when it was his lord's turn to sacrifice to Bacchus, 
or his humour led him to prefer sporting with his Ama- 
ryllis to toying with the muse. 

All these various and onerous duties, in a descending 
scale from the composition of a lyric to the cleaning of a 
pair of boots, were discharged by the enterprising Caravat 
with far less view to present emolument than to future 
reward. His services were to be compensated by a clerk- 
ship to the restored House of Commons, and Queen Mab 
had been actually tickling his fancy with the profit and 
dignity of that office, when the repeated applications of 
the bard's knuckles to the door of the attic broke the 
chain of slumber, and dispersed the golden dream. 

It was but a moment's intermission — but the drawing 
of a bolt — and the drowsy squire was again in the arms of 
Morpheus, thrusting huge imaginary rolls of parchment 
into visionary green bags, and occasionally draining a flask 
of Irish aqua-vita under the table of the House, so as to 
elude the eye of Mr. Speaker, who sometimes wore the 
features of his master, and sometimes those of Virus Ver- 
daunt. Caravat Shanavest, like Sancho Panza, did a 
great deal of hard work for the wages of hope, paid in the 
coin of fairyland. 

" Light!" cried the poet, now in his eyrie, and not 
content with the few lunar rays which struggled through 
the weather-stained windows of the crazy tenement. A 
snore from his retainer's pallet was the only answer he 

" Light and my harp !" he exclaimed again, and the 
same notes again replied, intimating the expediency of 
ministering to his necessities with his own hands. Grop- 



ing for his candlestick, he stumbled over the bust of 
O' Cornell. 

" A stumbling-block for ever in Young Ireland's path !" 
he cried, impatiently ; " what's this ? — a lucifer-box ! — no, 
a mouse-trap ! "What have bards to do with mouse-traps ? 
Ah ! I remember — the mice nibbled my ' Ode to Patriotic 
Frenzy ' — their old trick — divina rodebant carmina, though 
I say it myself. "What books are these ? — probably some 
of the Saxon historians — historians, forsooth ! Compare 
Hume or Eobertson with the Pour Masters — in history 
we excel Greece herself. No light to-night but what my 
lady, the moon, vouchsafes me. Well, I have sung by 
moonlight ere now. Come, old hai'p ! — oracle never con- 
sulted in vain ; ah ! — unstrung ! — Caravat arise ! Up, 
Caravat ! — harp-strings ! — up I say ! I am on fire — the 
spirit of song rushes on me — I feel the god. Caravat, 

But Amyrald might as well have invoked the spirits of 
Caravat' s ancestors, the mouldering Whiteboys of a thou- 
sand years. The probability is, however, that the call 
was heard distinctly enough, for the snoring from the 
pallet became more sonorous and energetic, manifesting a 
dogged determination on the part of the sleeper not to 
have his repose troubled in the dead of night by his 
master's rhyming frenzies. Amyrald having bellowed for 
some time in vain, at length retired in despair, and sought 
his own cubiculum in an adjacent closet. As he disen- 
gaged himself, however, from his bardic accoutrements 
(no arduous matter, for few were the ties that held them 
together, and from several articles there were more ways 
of egress than one) ho continued to soliloquise, full of the 


design of avenging the wrongs of Tigernach, and his me- 
mory teeming with instances of the terrible potency of 
vindictive rhyme. 

" Did not ]Sial O'Higgins cause the death of Sir John 
Stanley, the lord-deputy, in the beginning of the fifteenth 
century by the poison of his verse — poison — so says the 
chronicler. And again, did not the same O'Higgins 
satirise the Lagenians, and for a whole year there grew 
neither corn in the field, nor leaf on the tree, all Leinster 
over ? Such is the power of our art ! Then what do I 
find written of Teague Mac Dairhe, a bard of Thomond ? 
What a weapon was his, against which neither the soli- 
tude of glens, the depths of woods, or the strength of 
castles could prevail ? — rhyme — mortal, immortal rhyme ! 
Did not the poet, Neidhe, rhyme the nose from the face 
of the King of Connaught ? Old Vincent Mac Morris, 
you shall learn that the venom of song is not extinct. 
By my harp and by my sword, by bell and bachal, I'll 
rhyme him to death !" 

In the next number of the " Sun-burst " appeared the 
murderous melody which Amyrald O'Harper composed 
to revenge the wrongs of Tigernach Mac Morris. "Whe- 
ther it operated like arsenic, or like opium, is uncertain ; 
but it will be seen, hereafter, that Vincent did not long 
survive the potion. 



" Nulli major fuit usus edendi 
Tempestate mea." 

" You needs must know him, 
He's eminent for his eating." 




The career of Mr. Peregrine Falcon in Dublin is only 
important as it was connected with the fortunes of other 
personages, in whom a deeper interest will probably be 
taken. It need hardly be stated that he rarely break- 
fasted, lunched, or dined during his sojourn in Ireland, at 
his own costs and charges, when he could dine, lunch, or 
breakfast at the expense and outgoings of another party. 
Indeed, had he done so, he would not have known how to 
face his incomparable wife, from whom he did not expect 
to be long separated. 

His first care was to discover his friend Mr. Scatterseed, 
to whose kindness he was indebted for the office into 
whose dignities and emoluments he was about to enter. 
Mr. Scatterseed had sailed the day before for Hong 
Kong. He next called on Mr. Pitz Fidgett, but he might 
just as well have called at the Seraglio of Constantinople, 
and requested to see the Ottoman Porte. See Mr. Fitz 
Fidgett ! — if ever there was an Ubiquitarian and an 


In-every-thing-arian, everywhere and nowhere, he was the 

" Can I see Mr. Fitz Fidgett ?" 

" No, sir ; my master is laying the first stone of a 
Musical Loan Fund Association." 
" To-morrow ?" inquired Falcon. 

" To-morrow, sir, my master takes the chair at the 
great meeting of the Orange Operative anti-Maynooth 
Society at the Rotundo." 

" Well— I'll call on him the day after." 
"The day after he leaves town to attend the anniversary 
meeting of the Patriotic Harrowing and Draining Institu- 
tion, held yearly at Athlone regularly every twelvemonth." 
" Can I see Lady Pamela Fitz Fidgett ?" was the Red 
Rover's next interrogatory 
" May I ask your name, sir ?" 

" Mr. Peregrine Falcon — Secretary to the Irish Branch 
Society for the Conversion of the Polish Jews." 

The servant shook his head, and gave him to understand 
that his seeing Lady Pamela was altogether out of the 
question. Her ladyship had as many irons in the fire as 
her husband. Falcon could not recollect the moiety of 
her spiritual engagements. He only remembered a bazaar 
for the relief of Protestant Orphan Tigers, a Tulip and 
Hyacinth Free Trade Association, and a prayer-meeting 
for the conversion and illumination of Sir Robert Peel. 

The Red Rover put one or two questions more, with a 
view to obtain some information as to the hours of dining 
and breakfasting in Mr. Fitz Fidgett' s establishment, but 
finding the servant reserved upon those points, he left his 
card and retired, a little cast down at the results of his 


first visits. In fact, he had calculated on dining with his 
patron, or at all events, with Mr. Fitz Fidgett, and now 
the calamity of a dinner at his hotel stared him full in 
the face, aggravated by the prospect of another encounter 
with the furious old gentleman who had scared him out of 
his senses the night before. To avoid, if possible, this 
unpleasant alternative, he proceeded instantly in quest of 
Mr. Vernon Sharpe, and the hospitable reception he met 
with from that gentleman soon obliterated the recollection 
of his previous failure. 

Vernon Sharpe was a barrister by profession, rather 
than practice, and an agreeable, clever, social, and worthy 
man, although he wore neither green coat nor yellow shirt, 
utterly disbelieved in a Celtic age of gold, and had no 
desire to see the health of Ireland restored by the hazard- 
ous process of " regeneration." He was an intimate 
friend of Mr. Vincent Mac Morris, although much his 
junior in point of years, and had a very sincere regard for 
our young hero, the perversion of whose talents, and the 
violence of whose opinions, he lamented deeply. Mr. 
Sharpe was married to a lady of some beauty, but more 
wit, Irish in her cordiality, French in her sprightliness, 
and Italian in her talents for diplomacy. Moore could 
not have communicated his design upon the heart of his 
friend to a woman more capable of aiding him in it. 

Mr. Falcon, having consented to dine with this clever 
and amiable couple, proceeded to take possession of his 
official residence ; and a single glance was enough to 
satisfy him that his wife would prefer taking up her 
quarters either with the Fitz Fidgetts or the Vernon 
Sharpes. The apartments were neither spacious nor hand- 


some ; not sufficiently comfortable for the gipsy's middle. 
class habits, or sufficiently fashionable for her patrician 

His own bureau, indeed, was a little snuggery, with a 
plump arm-chair to doze in, a pigeon-hole scrutoire stocked 
with gilt paper, a directory in red morocco, a map of 
Poland on brass rollers, a penknife with an amber handle, 
and a clerk in an adjacent closet to assist him in doing 
nothing. It was one o'clock p.m. when Mr. Secretary 
Falcon took possession of his office and apartments. 

" At what hour do you close for the day ?" he asked the 

" At two o'clock precisely," replied that functionary. 

" Let it be half-past one, in future," said Falcon, with 
the decision of a chief; and dismissing his yawning assist- 
ant, he sat down like a duteous husband, but with a little 
official state, to report progress to his cara sposa. When 
his letter was finished, he enclosed it in the largest enve- 
lope he could lay his hands on ; sealed it with the broad 
seal of his office, bearing the letters I. B. S. C. P. J. (which 
must have sorely puzzled the authorities at the post-office) ; 
wrote his name with ministerial formality in the left-hand 
corner ; and rose from his desk, thinking more of his 
dinner than of all the Jews in Christendom, and having 
really done as much for his salary as many a public man 
ten times as handsomely paid. 

The dinner answered his expectations ; the Dublin had- 
dock was delicious, the "Wicklow mutton perfect, the Bel- 
fast ham exquisite, and Mrs. Sharpe (when Falcon had 
time to think of her) also charming in her way. The only 
guests besides the Eed Rover, were a Doctor Proby, old 


Mr. Verdaunt (a member of parliament, and father of the 
young statesman whom the reader is already acquainted 
with), and a female Mend of the family, one of those 
formidable cousins that Chatworth had such a rational 
dread of. Mr. Verdaunt, senior, was a humdrum practical 
old gentleman, for whom Toung Ireland generally, and 
his son in particular, entertained a proper Celtic scorn. 
He was always driving at dull, feasible ameliorations of 
society ; indeed, the more unromantic a scheme was, the 
more it pleased him : he would grovel on the earth, when 
he had the clouds to soar in ; deliberately preferred the 
substantial interests of the country to her visionary glories; 
he was loyal to the queen, disrespectful to his son, and 
attentive to his parliamentary duties ; in short, it was 
painful to contemplate an elderly gentleman so thoroughly 
lost to all sense of public and private virtue. 

" I hope, Mr. Falcon," said Sharpe, addressing his En- 
glish guest, " I hope Ireland has made a favourable im- 
pression on you, as far as a day's experience of us warrants 
you in giving an opinion. You find us very green, do 
you not ?" 

" And very yellow, too," said Falcon. 

" Oh, then, you have seen the volunteer uniform," said 
Mrs. Sharpe. 

"No," said Falcon, "but I saw a gentleman this 
morning, at my hotel, in a yellow shirt." 

"That must have been old Mac Morris," said Vernon 
Sharpe, looking at Mr. Verdaunt. 

" My venerable son is about to assume the saffron, too, 
I am told," replied the practical old gentleman, shaking 
his idle head. 


" Green and yellow — the very livery of melancholy — 
confess the truth, Mr. Falcon," said Sharpe, " do you not 
think us a nation of lunatics ?" 

"Well, indeed," said Falcon, hesitatingly — "I never 
saw a yellow shirt until I came to Dublin." 

" You will see twenty madder things, if you remain a 
little while in Ireland," rejoined his host. 

"Pray Avhy is Ireland called the green isle?" asked 
Mr. Falcon. 

" Some say in compliment to the verdure of our fields," 
said Mrs. Sharpe ; " but I fear it is more a satire upon 
the greenness of our intellects." 

"I sincerely wish we had less vert and more venison" 
said the dull, practical senator, expressing one of his 
vapid political opinions. 

"Less babbling of green fields," said Sharpe, "and 
more tilling of them." 

" Ploughing by the tail is to be revived, I hear," said 
old Verdaunt, " amongst the other enviable usages of our 
Celtic fathers." * 

" And pulling the wool from the backs of our sheep, 
instead of shearing them," said Dr. Proby ; "but I find 
in Hippocrates a mode of accounting for our insane ten- 
dencies, which occurs to me as being very satisfactory." 

" "What is it, Proby ?" said Sharpe. 

" Why, Hippocrates reckons not eating amongst the 
causes of lunacy ; and it is a notorious fact, that the great 

* The Irish Statute-book is disgraced by barbarous enactments 
prohibiting ploughing by the tail and plucking the wool from the 
sheep's back. Is it wonderful that the young blood of Ireland 
boils over ? " The flesh will quiver when the pincers tear." 


majority of people in this island eat so little, that they 
may fairly be considered as not eating at all. Then, what 
they do eat (when they depart from the general rule) ia 
the very description of food which the ancient physicians 
condemn as a windy diet; they feed upon roots exclu- 
sively. I have no doubt it is to this— to the use of the 
potato- — we may ascribe our vapouring habits, our love of 
bluster, and our fondness for castles in the air." 

" I recollect," said Sharpe, " that Burton enumerates 
roots amongst the articles of melancholy diet, and also 
pork, so that our pigs have to answer for some of our 
perversities." — Palcon, who was accustomed to eat a great 
deal, found it difficult to comprehend how a whole nation 
could live in the manner described by Dr. Proby. 

"The truth, perhaps, is," said Sharpe, " that the Irish 
do eat like other nations ; but eat by proxy." 

Falcon inquired whether that pleasing duty devolved 
upon the Irish members of parliament ; thinking, perhaps, 
what a good Irish representative he would make himself, 
under the dining-by-proxy system. 

"No," said Sharpe, "we have an establishment ex- 
pressly for the purpose, which we call our State Kitchen." 

"Now, Vernon, pray let the Church alone," said 
Mrs. Sharpe. 

"We hear nothing of Church reform now," said Dr. 

" Because the Church, as it exists at present," said old 
Verdaunt, "is no visionary grievance, but a real and 
tangible injustice. We do not touch for real evils. 
Stonehenge restitution is the cry, not Church reform, 
or any other political proposition. It is just as if a 


Country were infested with foxes, and instead of trying 
to extirpate them, we were to make hunting parties to 
"clear it of griffons, or any other chimerical beast in the 
menagerie of Ulster King-at-Arms." 

<l Now, dear Mr. Verdaunt, do let our poor Church 
alone ; you are quite as bad as Vernon," said Mrs. Sharpe 
•again, imploringly; for gown is sure to support gown, 
whenever an attack is made upon ecclesiastical abuses. 

'•'I am no abolitionist, I assure you, Mrs. Sharpe," said 
the practical senator, " nor is Vernon one either ; we 
"merely desire to see religious as well as civil equality 
established in l-:A-x nd." 

"Which I believe," said Dr. Proby, "would be much 
more for the benefit of Protestantism than of Popery. I 
must say, Mr. Verdaunt, you, who are a Catholic, are 
very ungrateful to the Established Church." 

" I must join you iu that attack," said Sharpe. 

" I neither desire to see your religion depressed, nor 
mine exalted, by any immoral influence," replied Mr. 
Verdaunt, senior; "I wish to see them both alike en- 
dowed, alike protected, enjoying equal liberty and equal 

" The present system," said Proby, " places both reli- 
gions in a false position. The principle I have always 
urged upon my fellow- Protestants is this, that Truth 
never looks so like Error as when it enjoys a monopoly 
•of public favour, and Error never looks so like Truth as 
when it is either prescribed by law, or discouraged or 
disowned by government. There are two ways of esta- 
'blishing a level ; one is by raising the valley, the other 
by depressing the hill. The former is the course I would 



take with the ecclesiastical institutions of this country, 
and it is obvious that the proposal of endowing the 
Catholic priesthood can no longer be resisted on prin- 
ciple by any party in the state." 

"But the Catholic priesthood, I am told," said Mr. 
[Falcon, "would not accept of a state-provision." 
" Pudge !"— said old Mr. Verdaunt. 
When Falcon joined the ladies in the drawing-room, 
Mrs. Sharpe engaged him in conversation about his 
family ; he was flattered to find that Emily was already 
an object of interest with so accomplished and hospitable 
a woman, and only too happy to expatiate on her talents 
and relate all the little points of her history, about which 
Mrs. Sharpe seemed to be curious. 

" Mary Talbot !" she exclaimed, with considerable sur- 
prise, when Falcon mentioned the name of the ill-fated 
girl, with whom his daughter had been acquainted in 
Scotland, under the painful circumstances above recorded. 
Mrs. Sharpe, however, controlled her feelings, and sud- 
denly changed the conversation by asking : 

" Mr. Falcon, did you ever meet a Mr. Mac Morris in 
company with Mr. Moore ?" 

" No," replied Falcon ; " but I heard a great deal about 
him, and I think Emily and I saw him one day in one of 
the parks ; a handsome but wild young man, long black 
hair, dark flashing eyes, very pale, as if he studied exces- 
sively. Emily thought him like the French revolutionary 
hero St. Just ; I am sure it was Mr. Mac Morris ; at all 
events, we have called him Emily's St. Ju3t ever since." 

" I am positive it was my old friend Tierna, from your 
lively portrait," said Mrs. Sharpe, " but it is very well for 


Ma heart, Mr. Falcon, that he is not better acquainted 
with your charming daughter. I presume you and Mrs. 
Falcon would not trust her to the care of so very wild an 

Falcon declared his total freedom from national anti- 
pathies, made the same protestation on the part of his 
queen-consort, and took his leave, well satisfied with the 
day he had spent, particularly as it seemed likely to be 
followed by others equally agreeable. He had no doubt 
Mrs. Falcon would place the Vernon Sharpes in the 
column of "useful people." 

As soon as Mrs. Sharpe was alone with her husband, 
she drew her chair close to his at the fireside and said : 
" Vernon, do you recollect the name of Mary Talbot ?" 

" Talbot ! yes, to be sure, the daughter of the lady to 
whom Vincent Mac Morris was so devotedly attached 
early in life." 

" Yes," said Mrs. Sharpe, " but don't interrupt me ; 
her name was either Maxwell or Montgomery." 

" It was either one or the other ; one of those Orange 
families in the north who are now in open insurrection 
because the students of Maynooth are in future to have 
beds apiece." 

" Now, Vernon, do listen ; the match, you may re- 
member, was broken off on political and religious grounds, 
and Miss Montgomery — " 

" I think it was Maxwell." 

" "Well, no matter which ; she subsequently married ; in- 
deed, she was forced to marrya worthless and profligate Mr. 
Talbot, who made her unhappy while he lived, and when 
he died left her and one daughter utterly destitute. The 



mother, however, did not long survive, and the daughter 
was thrown upon some relatives of her father in Scotland, 
who were just a tittle more humane than her mother's 
relations in Ireland." 

" I remember poor Vincent's anxiety to discover what 
had become of her, and how acutely it distressed him, 
when, on his return from the continent, in 1837, he made 
the discovery too late." 

" Do you recollect his account of the little English girl 
who attended Miss Talbot in her last moments, and whom 
he met in the mountain churchyard at the side of her 
grave?' 1 

" I do ; he spoke of her the last time he was here." 

" Only think, Vernon, of that girl being Mr. Falcon's 
daughter — the girl that Domini ck Moore describes in his 
letter as so lovely and accomplished." 

" The newspapers would call it a curious coincidence," 
said Sharpe, gently poking the fire. 

" She must be a very fascinating girl," continued Mrs. 
Sharpe, " by all accounts." 

" Moore is not particularly susceptible," said her hus- 
band, laying down the poker and taking up the tongs, 
entirely engrossed by a hot cinder which had just dropped 
from the bars. 

" But Tierna Mac Morris is," said the lady. ' 

" All the beauty in England would not give Tierna the 
heartache," said her husband, considering maturely whe- 
ther the shovel would not be more effectual than the tongs 
to deal with the refractory cinder. 

" Humph !" said Mrs. Sharpe, "I know Tierna better 
than you do, Vernon." 


Sharpe now perceived that he was expected to take up 
a controversial position in the colloquy, so he turned 
about on his chair, confronted his wife, and putting one 
of his legs domestically across the other, said to her — 

" Tou don't want him to fall in love with Miss Falcon, 
do you, Helen ? I hope Tierna will have better luck in 
a wife than the daughter of that skipping Jack-of-all- 
trades, who dined with us — by-the-by, Helen, how he did 
dine !" 

" I wish him no better luck, Yernon, than an amiable, 
accomplished, and beautiful Englishwoman ; as to fortune, 
he need not think of it ; and Moore tells me that Mrs. 
Ealcon's family is a very good one." 

" But, Helen, to say nothing of his own antipathies, 
you forget his father's." 

" No, Vernon, but I know the feelings of his uncle, 
and I am satisfied nothing would please him more than 
to see Tierna married to an amiable Englishwoman, par- 
ticularly the girl we are speaking of. It would cure him, 
too, of his political extravagance and Celtic nonsense, and 
there is nothing, you know very well, that Mr. Vincent 
Mac Morris is so anxious to do." 

" Excuse me, Helen, but you are talking a prodigious 
deal of absurdity. Vincent would never sanction his 
nephew's marriage in the teeth of his father's wishes." 

" Dominick Moore, who knows Miss Ealcon, is anxious 
for the match." 

" Moore is a very good authority, I dare say, on a point 
of law." 

" I should so like to humble this detestable anti-Eng- 
lish feeling." 


" At the expense of our friend Tierna." 

" Now yon would like to see the Norman falcon truss 
up the Irish eaglet, as well as any man living, Vernon." 

" Nonsense, girl — go to bed." 

Perhaps the scheme deserved the character that Mr. 
Sharpe gave of it, but certain it is that his wife did not 
prosecute it with less ardour upon that account. In the 
course of a day or two, she was engaged in an active cor- 
respondence with several parties interested more or less 
nearly in the fortunes of our hero, amongst others with 
the fair Emily herself. The Red Rover was highly flat- 
tered when the charming Mrs. Sharpe begged permission to 
commence an epistolary acquaintance with his daughter ; 
and he was still more gratified to learn that she proposed 
to accompany her first despatch with a little present of 
books and a dress of Irish tabinet. One of the books, 
adroitly selected for this purpose, was a recent publica- 
tion by the Archaeological Society of Ireland, entitled, 
" The Annals oe Tigeknach," a work held by the 
Celtic critics to be vastly superior to the " Annals of 



" I am very confident that a complete history of the foolish, 
weak, ruinous, factious, unaccountable, ridiculous, absurd proceed- 
ings in this kingdom, would contain twelve large volumes in folio, 
of the smallest type, in the largest paper." 

Swiff s Letters. 

" A people remarkably fluent in expression, much pestered with 
orators and preachers, and mightily subject to that disease which 
has been since called a leprosy of eloquence." 

Shaftesbury's Characteristics. 
Advice to an Author. 


Me. Shaepe continued his kind attentions to Falcon all 
the time of his sojourn in Dublin, accompanied him in his 
visits to public places, and did his best to guard him 
against the ridiculous mistakes commonly committed by 
the twaddling tourists of the day. 

" I should like," said Falcon, " to be present at an 
aggregate meeting of Young Ireland — where are those 
meetings held ?' ? 

" An aggregate meeting of Young Ireland," said 
Sharpe, smiling, " might be held in an omnibus ; but I'll 
take you to the Hall of Clamour, where you will not only 
see that section of the Eepeal party, but the Old Ireland 
one too. By-the-by, to-morrow will be a great Young 
Ireland day — a grand new grievance is to be started, and 
a magnificent discovery will be announced, which the 



Celtic mineralogists are said to have made of emerald 
mines in the province of Connaught." 

" These are extraordinary days," said Mr. Falcon. 

" Our Irish days resemble Arabian Nights," saidSharpe. 

They reached the hall, and Falcon had the pleasure of 
hearing the unrivalled burst of oratory which appro- 
priately introduced the topic of the restoration of Stone- 
henge. Ah, Tigernach Mac Morris, that any voice but 
yours should have raised that huge, that romantic ques- 
tion ! — Sharpe acquainted Falcon with its parentage, 
which he had learned from Moore, and Falcon only the 
more regretted that his daughter Emily was not present to 
enjoy and sympathise in the tumultuous enthusiasm of the 
meeting ; for no sooner did Virus Verdaunt sit down, 
after proclaiming the right of Ireland to the magnificent 
hypsethral temple of Salisbury Plain, than 

" Such a noise arose 

As the shrouds make at sea in a stiff tempest, 
As loud, and to as many tunes. Hats, cloaks 
(Doublets, I think), flew up." 

"Now, Mr. Falcon," said Sharpe, when the applause 
subsided — " do you perceive all the merit of the new topic 
of agitation which you have just heard started ?" 

Falcon evinced a becoming thirst for information. 

" This Stonehenge question," continued Sharpe, " is, 
you will observe, not merely a vital, but an immortal one. 
Its beauty is, that it will be as good this day twelvemonth, 
ay, this day twenty years to come, as it is at the present 

"Indeed," said Falcon, "I do not think the English 
will ever surrender Stonehenge." 

"Never," said Sharpe; "nor will they ever repeal the 


Union ; and the certainty that they will not do so, con- 
stitutes the beauty of that question also." 

The motion of Mr. Virus Verdaunt was in the shape of 
a resolution, and was seconded by Sir Hurry Scurry, 
deputy for the town of Higgledy-piggledy. When Sir 
Hurry was done, Sharpe asked Falcon what he thought of 
the eloquence of Young Ireland. 

" "Why, I think," said Falcon, " that the young gentle- 
men have a great deal of animal fury." 

"You are quite right," said Sharpe; " they consider 
passion the soul of rhetoric, as Demosthenes considered 
action. Oratory and bluster are with them synonymous 
terms, and iEolus, not Mercury, is their god of eloquence. 
You recollect Dr. Proby's remarks on potato diet." 

" It's a strange country," said Mr. Falcon ; "but pray 
who are those young gentlemen with the harps on their 
knees on that bench yonder ?" 

"The bards, our national poets." 

" And the opposite bench, by whom is it occupied ? 
Who are those boys with the portfolios ?" 

" The statesmen ; the ministry, in fact, that is to be. 
That pale youth, who looks so domestic, is probably to 
have the Home-office." 

" A very young minister," said Falcon. 

"That young gentleman whom you see counting his 
fingers with such consummate ability, will be our chan- 
cellor of the exchequer," continued Sharpe ; " and the boy 
next to him, examining the map, is probably destined for 
foreign affairs ; the paper in his hand is a report on the 
state of the Indian empire." 

" Upon my word," said Falcon, " it is a very precocious 


country." — A gentleman now rose to speak, and Falcon 
asked his name. 

"Mr. Fling Mire— represents Mud Island — a very 
popular speaker ; his art consists in incessantly repeating 
a certain class of words ; now will you, Mr. Falcon, count 
the miscreants, and I'll count the caitiffs." 

Falcon was delighted at this employment, being as great 
an arithmetician as Michael Cassio. He told off the mis- 
creants on the thumb of his left hand with the first finger 
of his right, and felt a little fatigued before Mr. Fling 
Mire came to the peroration of his speech. 

"How many miscreants ?" asked Sharpe. 

" Sixty-three." 

" Sixty-one caitiffs." 

" A very odd method of reasoning," said Falcon. 

" As old as the Socratic," said Sharpe ; " we call it the 
method of Xantippe." 

"Hush!" cried a voice behind, "the Mineralogical 
Committee is about to report !" 

The Celtic Mineralogical Committee consisted of 
Messrs. Sindbad Mac Quarry, Shafto Lynch, and Ada- 
mant Pierce. They had been commissioned to take a 
mineralogical survey of the island, with a view to discover 
gold mines, detect formations of rock diamond, and make 
subterraneous researches after primitive rubies, and strata 
of old emerald, topaz, or jasper, on the plain and obvious 
ground, that it would be monstrous to suppose a country 
like Celtic Ireland was not, at least, as rich in the precious 
stones and metals as Peru and Mexico, Q-olconda, or 
Eldorado. This brilliant committee now delivered in their 
first report, which was read to the meeting by Mr. Sindbad 


Mac Quarry ; and as it appealed to the avarice as well as 
the ambition of the assembly, it was heard with the pro- 
foundest attention, and received with the most vociferous 

The committee had come to the conclusion, that there 
did exist a formation of emeralds in the west of Ireland, 
of amazing extent and splendour. The details of their 
discovery were not yet in a state for publication ; but they 
were preparing a memoir and a map, which would put the 
country in possession of the precise ramifications of the 
immense veins of wealth which had been ascertained to 
exist unsuspected under its magic soil. Meanwhile, the 
committee recommended, as a matter of common prudence, 
a total discontinuance of operations in all such vulgar 
mines as coal, lead, copper, and iron. 

Mr. Vernon Sharpe could not help smiling at all this, 
and Mr. Falcon, of course, smiled along with him. But 
on the report of this committee, absurd as those wise 
gentlemen conceived it to be, hung the fate of the hero 
and heroine of this story. Mr. Virus Verdaunt now rose 

" See," said Sharpe, " we are going to have another gale ; 
hold your hat, Mr. Falcon, the orators are in full blow to- 

Verdaunt commenced his second speech by referring to 
a report which, he said, had reached him, that it was in 
the contemplation of the queen of a neighbouring king- 
dom to visit Ireland in the course of the present summer. 
(Murmurs.) It was the custom of Irishmen to receive 
strangers with hospitality. (Applause.) He was sure 
that under ordinary circumstances no Celtic nobleman or 


gentleman who heard him would refuse even the Queen of 
England the reception due of courtesy to an illustrious 
female foreigner. (Approbation.) But there were cir- 
cumstances at the present juncture — (Hear, hear, hear) — 
which might give hospitality the air of homage ; and he 
called upon them to beware of admitting an invader in the 
guise of a visitor, and acknowledging a usurper when 
they only meant to entertain a guest. For his part, he 
would not so much as invite her Britannic Majesty to 
breakfast, if he could not do so without compromising the 
principle of national independence. He would receive 
her as one independent gentleman receives another. (A 
laugh.) The meeting knew what he meant (cheers) ; in 
fact, he doubted whether, consistently with the great cause 
in which they were all embarked, they ought not positively 
to decline the honour which the rambling Saxon princess 
in question proposed to do them. He hoped she would 
not be advised to intrude herself into a country where 
she might be assured the only welcome that awaited her 
was the indignant whoop of Nationality. (Peals of 
applause.) It would make her coursers start under her 
chariot ; it would burst upon her revels like a bomb-shell ; 
it would invade her levee in Celtic costume ; ring through 
her drawing-room in Scythian war-cries; nay, it would 
shake her regal couch at midnight like the eruption of a 
volcano, or the reeling of an earthquake. 

The orator sat down in a tornado of cheers, and under 
a cloud of hats, which for a moment darkened the hall. 
He was seconded by Amyrald O'Harper, in a short 
harangue something between an ode and a philippic, in 
the course of which he declared that no true son of song 


would welcome the Saxon queen, were she even to ccme 
like the wife of Nuadha, King of Leinster, with her arms 
sparkling with rings of gold to bestow upon the bards. 

"Hurrah!" shouted Hurly O'Burly, chairman of the 
Committee of Organisation ; and again the hubbub was 
renewed, and again a cloud of hats overshadowed the 

" This will alter the queen's arrangements for the vaca- 
tion," said Falcon to his friend. — Sharpe nodded. 

"At all events," continued Falcon, "if her majesty 
does persist in her intention of visiting you, after that 
young gentleman's alarming speech, she will be under 
the necessity of coming over at the head of a great 

" If the queen would take my advice," said Sharpe, 
" the only army she would take with her, would be a few 
stout Eton pedagogues and half a dozen ushers from 
Harrow and Winchester. That's the force to put down 
an insurgent boyocracy. But perhaps !Mr. Falcon you 
have had enough of the Hall of Clamour for one day, 
come along, you must dine with me." 

Falcon was a little coy. 

"Now you must." 

Falcon yielded. 



" Rightly to be great 
Is not to stir without great argument, 
But greatly to find quarrel in a straw, 
When honour is at stake." 



Amyrald O'Harper and Yirus Verdaunt walked 
away together from the Hall of Clamour, communing 
as they went upon the transactions of the day. Every 
thing was green about Verdaunt but his hair. Amyrald' s 
dress (although he had not yet assumed the full costume 
of ancient Ireland) exhibited the six colours, which it 
was the prerogative of the bards to wear ; being only one 
colour less than the number allowed to princes, so great 
was the bardic dignity in Celtic times. The poet now 
exercised his rainbow privilege by wearing a coat vert, a 
waistcoat gules, pantaloons azure, cravat sable, buttons or, 
and a shirt of chastened argent'. 

" Stonehenge told tremendously," said the Brehon. 

" O'Connell will be frantic," replied the bard. 

"Where is he ?" said Verdaunt. 

"Hare-hunting in Kerry, I presume." 

" Hare-hunting ! — When he ought to be hunting the 
miscreant Saxon, and chasing the antlered Norman from 
the land!" 


" Stonehenge ~will gall him to the quick ! — He never 
had an eye for a grievance." 

"Never — but what shall we have next? — The public 
appetite was never so keen ; — it must be fed, or we may 
give up the game." 

"A thought struck me last night," saidAmyrald; "I 
sometimes fancy I am wiser dreaming than waking. Sir 
Thomas Browne says, he had the same peculiarity.* But 
to the point— you know how much the strength and 
splendour of our ancestors consisted in the profusion of 
hair they wore in their glybbes, and moustaches, or 
crornmeals ?" 

" Of course — are we not reviving those heroic and 
hirsute ornaments for that reason ?" 

" Well — and you know, too, how much the growth and 
beauty of the hair depends upon the use of various un- 
guents, more particularly upon the fat of mighty bears." 

" No doubt." 

" Now, are you acquainted with the works of the 
illustrious geographer Ortelius ?" 

" I never heard of them." 

" Well, Ortelius published a map and a geographical 
memoir of Ireland, at Antwerp, in 1572, and he states 
there expressly, that in no part of the earth had he seen 
so many bears."t 

" And what became of them ?" 

" What became of them ? — I intend to put that ques- 
tion to our Saxon invaders. I shall ask the Norman 

* See the Religio Medici. 

f See the curious account of Ireland, in the days of Elizabeth, 
by Fynes Moryson. 


banditti what became of them ? They rbbbed us of our 
bears as they stripped us of our monuments. They saw- 
that from the abundance of our bears'-grease, we derived 
the matchless vigour of our locks, and that to those locks 
we owed our strength in fight, and our wisdom in council. 
They exterminated our bears with the same deep and 
malignant policy, which they have uniformly pursued 
towards Ireland, and, let others pursue what course they 
may, I am determined to make the country resound from 
the centre to the sea, with the cry of — ' Restore our 

"But do you think it feasible to restore them?" — 
asked Verdaunt, with considerable simplicity. 

" Dull soul !" cried Amvrald — " of course I do not. Wo 
more than I think the restoration of Stonehenge, or — 
to tell you the truth — the restoration of other things 
feasible. A grievance capable of being redressed is no 

" I don't think much of your bear-question," said 
Verdaunt, after some pause, and bursting with envy of 
his companion's superior fertility of invention. 

" What would you think of offering a reward for a fine, 
fresh, plausible, thumping grievance, that no human being 
in Ireland — although groaning under it for a thousand 
years — ever before heard, thought, or dreamed of? I 
don't think the bear-restoration question will be easily 
surpassed, but I have no objection to advertising for a 
better, if a better is to be found. Wbat shall the prize 
be ? — a copy of my poems ?" 

" Or my speeches ?" said Verdaunt. 

"Well, I must dine," said the bard. 


" So must I, too," said the Brehon. 

" Come along with me, then, to the Eagle's Nest ; you 
shall have true Celtic fare, shamroots, white-meats, and 
usquebaugh, if that tipsy Caravat has left me a flask to 
treat you with."* 

" Agreed !" — As the juvenile statesmen approached the 
threshold of the bardic residence above described, Amy- 
raid, with the quick eye of a poet, discovered his land- 
lord (a petty chandler, bearing the appropriate name of 
Wickham) posted before the door ; and if he could have 
borrowed an eagle's wing, or a swan's pinions, he would 
have mounted to his nest by a directer path than he was 
under the necessity of taking to reach it. "Wickham, 
who wore the blue habit of his craft, touched his hat 
respectfully, but alluded without much circumlocution to 
the rent due for the wind-rocked dwelling of the im- 
mortal bard. 

"Now, "Wickham — conscience!" said Amyrald ; "you 
have had some of the grandest productions of my harp, 
and you know that nobody but yourself will have the 
physical illumination of the Parliament-house in College- 
green. Wickham, be a good citizen ; remember you are 
a son of light, and exalt your thoughts above sordid 
considerations, unworthy of the great age and the great 
country in which it is your privilege to live." 

"The country is great enough," said the prospective 
chandler to the Irish Parliament, " but I'm not so clear, 

* Campion gives a list of Celtic delicacies, including those men- 
tioned above. The white-meats were an Irish blanc-manger com- 
posed of curds and oatmeal. Alas, Apicius, that you were not a 
Celt ! 


Mr. 0' Harper, how a poor man is to live in the country 
if he can't collect his lawful rints on a Saturday night." 

"Money is dirt," said Verdaunt, supporting his friend ; 
but stamping his foot as he spoke, a portion of the Cla- 
mour-Eent jingled in his pocket, so as slightly to damage 
the moral eifect of the observation. 

It seemed to strike the blue man in that light, for he 
pressed his suit to the green man with renewed urgency 
for one quarter's rent out of three, which he affirmed that 
he was entitled to by both laws, Brehon as well as Saxon. 

" Wickham," said Amyrald, in a calm, argumentative 
tone, " you are my landlord and I am your tenant." — The 
man in blue seemed a little proud of the superior ground 
in which the statement placed him. 

" Tou are not the man, "Wickham," continued the poet 
in the same strain, " to exterminate your tenantry for a 
sordid arrear of rent." 

"But when a man, Mr. O'Harper, has a bit o' pro- 

"I perfectly understand you, Wickham; no man knows 
better than you that property has its duties as well as its 
rights ; that though it may be a landlord's right to ask 
his tenant for his rent, his duty requires him to leave his 
tenant to fix his own time for paying it." 

"I am not so clear about that doctrine," replied the 
man in blue, getting a little confused in the discussion. 

" Well, my respected landlord," said O'Harper, putting 
the importunate proprietor of the tenement gently aside, 
and passing into the house, followed by his Brehon com- 
rade, " I'll send you down a copy of Mr. Drummond's 
letter to the landlords of Tipperary, and we'll settle this 


miserable matter as soon as the affairs of the empire give 
me leisure to think of it." 

As they sat sipping their usquebaugh after the dis- 
cussion of the Celtic dainties, the party was increased by 
the dropping in of Magnus Moonshine, Hurly O'Burly, 
and a bard named Mac Hecknoe, lineally descended from 
the illustrious contemporary of that frivolous Saxon 
rhymer, John Dryden. 

" Caravat ! — goblets!" cried the host; "more usque- 
baugh ! and brew us a jar of nectar,— let us have a Celtic 
symposiac !''* Hurly O'Burly rubbed his hands with 
glee, for he loved usquebaugh with all his heart, and had 
a god-like taste for nectar. 

" Fill!" cried O'Harper, pushing the flask, redolent of 
saffron, to Thus Terdaunt, who filled his beaker to the 
brim ; and the example was followed with zeal by O'Burly 
and Mac Flecknoe. 

••Moonshine." said Amyrald, to open the conversation; 
" you know the fable of the ' Dog and the Shadow,' — have 
you remarked how false and vulgar is the moral commonly 
deduced from it :"' 

'• The dog did right," said Moonshine promptly ; " what 
we should have done ourselves: — preferred a glorious 

* For the materials of Irish nectar, and the art of compound- 
ing them, see the work of " Dr. Ledwieh on the Antiquities of 
Ireland." Saffron was an ingredient in the nectar as well as in 
the usquebaugh. It -was not only a favourite dye with the Irish 
drapers, but a popular flavour and' perfume -with the distillers, as 
it still continues to he with the pastry-cooks of Yonn? Ireland, 
who are always supplied "with cakes of saffron for Celtic child- 
hood, while (not without some laxity of principle) they cater for 
Saxon infancy with Bath buns, Shrewsbury cakes, and Wellington 


hope to a sordid certainty — dropped tlie paltry reality, 
and snatched at the glorious vision." 

"Hurrah!" cried Hurly O'Burly, Chairman of the 
Committee of Organisation. 

" Better dream with Emmet and Fitzgerald, than wake 
with the practical dunces of the day," resumed O'Harper. 

"A hundred times," said Verdaunt. 

"A thousand times," said Moonshine. 

" Hurrah !" shouted Hurly O'Burly. 

" My thoughts," said the statesman-bard, " have been 
running on fables. There is the common one of the 
'Bundle of Twigs.' — Is the principle that union is strength 
a sound one ?" 

"Absurd," said Moonshine. 

" Nonsense," said Mac Elecknoe. 

" Ridiculous," said Verdaunt. 

" Hurrah !" roared Hurly O'Burly. 

" The health of Sindbad Mac Quarry, and the Mine- 
ralogical Committee," said Amyrald, rising, and recom- 
mending the Celtic nectar of which his cup-bearer had 
just set a mighty jar upon the board. The toast was 
duly honoured, and Mac Elecknoe having been called 
upon for a song, chanted an appropriate national hymn, 

" Green-vested land with emeralds strown," 

which none of the company had heard before, and which 
was rapturously applauded, and tempestuously encored. 

" Eill, Verdaunt ! — a bumper, O'Burly ! — to the brim, 
Mac Elecknoe ! Let us drink to one who is as great 
absent as present ; to the natural leader of the youth 


of Ireland, the patriotic and persecuted Tigernach Mac 

" There is a rumour to-night," said Mac Flecknoe, 
" that should the emerald formation be traced through 
the Mac Morris property in Galway, old Shane will snap 
his fingers at his brother Vincent, and recal his son to 
Ireland." There was then a pause, which was first inter- 
rupted by Amyrald asking Verdaunt when he would be 
ready with his opinion upon the legality of the Celtic 

" To-morrow," said the Brehon. 

" Our ladies are not idle," said Mac Flecknoe. 

" Song shall reward them," said O'Harper. "I'll sing 
them such a lay as the ear of beauty has not heard since 
the nightingale warbled to the rose." 

" Sad that Ireland breeds no nightingales !" said Mac 
Flecknoe, plaintively. 

"It is more lamentable," cried Verdaunt, "to think 
that it breeds the rose, the hateful emblem of the Norman 
sway. I would root the odious flower out of Ireland." 

" Not a word against the rose," said O'Harper, " in the 
presence of two bards. Spare us our roses ; we won't 
make beds for our rulers of them." 

" It is only by carrying out our principle to the utter- 
most length," said Verdaunt, " that we can heat the blood 
of Ireland sufficiently." 

" Up to Ninety-Eight!" cried Mac Flecknoe. 

" Hurrah!" shouted Hurly O'Burly. 

" "Who fears to talk of Ninety-Eight ?" demanded 
Amyrald, his eyes flashing revolutionary fire. 

" What a line to commence one of your Celtic war- 



songs!" cried Verdaunt. — And there did subsequently 
appear an ode, which opened with that stirring interroga- 
tory ; whether the production of O'Harper, Mac Elecknoe, 
or some other rhymer of the bardic college, was never 
fully ascertained. There can be little doubt, however, of 
its having been inspired by Celtic nectar, at one of the 
symposiacs of La Jeune Irlande. 

O'Burly now hinted at another flask of usquebaugh, 
and Amyrald called repeatedly to his butler, who was 
distinctly heard in a sort of ante-room, that served as 
both kitchen and pantry, vociferating a savage melody to 
the clank and rattle of sundry pieces of old iron, such as 
chains and pike-heads, which lay huddled in a corner, 
seemingly never intended for harmonious uses, or to assist 
in musical composition. 

" More usquebaugh, gallow-glass ! and stop jangling 
those pikes and fetters !" 

" Who is your Ganymede ?" inquired Verdaunt. 

" More of a Vulcan," replied the bard, " than a Gany- 
mede ; he's a smart blade of a blacksmith's apprentice, 
whom I picked up some time ago at Thurles ; and may 
this hand never sweep the harp again, if he's not as good 
a national poet as half the bards in our order ; no offence 
to my friend Mac Flecknoe there. Caravat's fancy, you 
see, is stored with the iron imagery we want." 

There was still a delay of a few moments, and then Mr. 
Caravat Shanavest reeled into the banquet-room, his face 
glowing with his private libations, and a flask of the 
Celtic fire-water in each hand ; he had thrown a coarse 
yellow shirt over his ordinary habiliments, and flung back 
Ma formidable glybbe of nearly the same agreeable 


colour, else the company would have missed the glare of 
his eyes, which resembled two red-hot balls flashing with 
poetry and punch. As he slapped down the flasks upon 
the board, Amyrald demanded the cause of the din that 
had been so painfully audible. 

" Composing," said the young Cyclops. 

" What ?" returned his master. 

" A battle-piece," replied Caravat. 

" Let us have it," said O'Harper ; and the blacksmith- 
bard, seizing the ambiguous implement between a poker 
and a pike, which has been already noticed, and pulling 
his glybbe down over his eyes, jumped into the midst of 
the floor, and in notes as iron as his imagery, chanted or 
yelled the following indignant strain : 

" Lo, Freedom again hath appear'd on our hills, 
Already the isle her divinity fills ; 
The harp wakes — the sword rattles — "* 

" Tou hear the cutlery, Ver daunt," said Amyrald, call- 
ing his friend's attention to the beauties of Caravat. 

" — the sword rattles, and kindles the brand, 
While the breeze of her wings passes over the land*" 

"How can the sword kindle the brand, caitiff?" de- 
manded O'Harper. 

" The sword's supposed red-hot," said Caravat, prepared 
to defend his composition. 


" When the foul fetter clanks on the son of the hills, 
His frame with the rage of a chafed tiger thrills, 
With clench' d hand, iron sinews, and fiercely knit brow, 
Could a harness of adamant baffle him now ?" 

* The Western War-Song. a.d. 1642. See Spirit of the 



"Bravo, song-smith! there's metal in that, Mac 

But Mac Mecknoe made no answer save a contemp- 
tuous growl, perhaps being a little envious of the success 
of his untaught rival in the art of poetry. Verdaunt, 
however, did honour to the journeyman-balladmonger, 
and tipped him a small antique brass coin of Thomyris, 
Queen of Scythia. " It was a capital idea, Amyrald," he 
added, "to secure that fellow's services." 

Verdaunt now rose to retire, pleading that he had a 
Beport to prepare upon the Financial Condition of the 
Empire of Morocco, in his capacity as Chairman of the 
Select Committee on African Affairs. Mac Flecknoe 
and Moonshine recollected an engagement to a Green 
Tea and Saffron- Cake party at Sir Hurry and Lady 
Scurry's, Galloping Green, where two distinguished 
French sympathizers, M. Le Comte Vaurien and Le 
Marquis De Faineant, were expected. 

" Let us drink to La Jeune France before we part," 
cried O'Harper, crowning his goblet, and passing the flask. 

" La Jeune France !" cried Verdaunt, Moonshine, and 
Mac Flecknoe. 

"Hurrah!" roared Hurly O'Burly. 


" Men's apparel is commonly made according to their condi- 
tions ; and their conditions are oftentimes governed by their gar- 
ments. But he these which you have described the fashion of the 
Irish weeds ?" — Spenser's State of Ireland. 

Ox the following day, the opinion of Mr. Verdaunt, 
junior, on the legality of the proposed revival of the. 


ancient costume of Ireland, appeared in the columns of 
the Sun-burst, under the title of 


" Case on behalf of Young Ireland and the Unbounded 
Nationality Association, for the opinion of Mr. V Ver- 
daunt, Doctor of Brehon Law. 

" The statute of 28th Henry VIII., chap. 15, entitled, 
' An Act for the English Habit, Order, and Language,' 
enacts, &c. &c. Counsel will please to advise generally 
upon the following queries : 

" 1. May glybbes, crommeals, kirchers, cotes tucked 
up, hoods, and mantles, be lawfully worn by the people 
of Ireland, male aud female, notwithstanding the said 
statute, expressly prohibiting the same ? 

"' They may.— V V 

" 2. Does the provision of said statute, that no shirt or 
smock shall be dyed saffron, or contain above seven yards 
of cloth, operate so as to make it illegal to wear shirts or 
smocks containing a greater quantity — say twenty yards 
— and of the said saffron colour ? 

"' I think not.— V V 

" 3. Though no woman may wear her cotes tucked up 
according to the form of the statute, may she tuck them 
up in any other form, or without form ? And what is 
tucking up at law ? 

" ' It is the right of my countrywomen at Brehon law, 
to tuck up their cotes, non obstante the statute cited. 
Tucking up at law means hanging. — V V ' 

" The statute does not specify the colours of the cotes, 
kirchers, hoods, and kirtles therein prohibited. Counsel 
will please to give colour. 


" ' Cotes saffron, kirtles green, stockings blue ; gene- 
rally, the more green the better. — V V ' " 

The above case had been drawn up by Mr. Patrick 
Gosoftly, solicitor to the club ; and on the back of the 
original paper might have been seen the following note : 

"Pee, Three Guineas. Not sent. Mr. Gosoftly will 
meet Mr. Verdaunt in the lobby of the House of Com- 
mons, in College Green, on the first night of the next 


Oh, my lord, 
"When you went onward, on this ended action, 
I look'd upon her with a soldier's eye, 
That liked, but had a rongher task in hand, 
Than to drive liking to the name of love ; 
But now I am return' d, and that war-thoughts 
Have left their places vacant, in their rooms 
Come thronging soft and delicate desires, 
All prompting me how fair young Hero is." 

Much Ado About Nothing. 


"We left the ambitious Tigernach in the uttermost 
dejection, believing himself ruined, and refusing to be 
comforted. He resembled a caged eaglet, or young bear 
in a pit ; England was his prison, and London his narrow 
cell. His lot was indeed hard ; he had sown the wind, and 
he was forbidden to reap the whirlwind ; he had planted 


groves of laurels, and he was prohibited from plucking a 
solitary leaf to adorn his own brow. "When the storm of 
grief and indignation first subsided, he fell into a state of 
mental torpor, during which the axis of the earth might 
have cracked without his concerning himself about the 

Moore watched the course of his distemper with affec- 
tionate curiosity, proffering no idle consolations, depending 
more upon the old chirurgeon with the scythe and hour- 
glass, than upon any of the vulgar receipts in the moral 

The mind of Tierna had always been metaphysical and 
mystic, and now that it was clouded by disappointment, 
it became a still apter receptacle for dreamy projects, 
nebulous theories, and fantastic systems : he grew sub- 
limely transcendental and awfully germanesque, saw 
" deep meanings" in everything about him ; spirits in 
the stars, and " central truths" in the cups of flowers. 
In this unfathomable vein, he began, for the first time, 
not only to tolerate but to relish the company of Toung 
England. His acquaintances of that party were Mr. 
Hilary De Groslyn, whom we have seen at Mr. Bompas's ; 
the solemn Skiddaw, who idolised "Wordsworth ; St. Cris- 
pin, the finest head of hair at Oriel ; and Cyprian Palmer, 
so deeply enamoured of mediaeval literature and feudal 
institutions, that he protested the splendour of the dark 
ages actually struck him blind. The society of these men 
was morally of use to Tierna, for by communing with the 
Saxon and the Norman, he insensibly became less in- 
tensely Celtic, and it was now that he conceived the first 
vague idea of a league with the white waistcoats, which, 



combined with his principle that the " Age of Unions is 
past," led him subsequently to contemplate and propose 
a revival of the Saxon Heptarchy. 

Palmer and St. Crispin were both poets : Palmer 
entex-ed into the scheme of a confederacy with Toung 
Ireland so warmly, that he produced a poetical address to 
that party, which appeared in the printed collection of 
Celtic melodies.* St. Crispin had a more sportive muse : 
he was the author of the following spirited stanzas, 
entitled — 


Brethren ! — 'tis a holy thing, 

When a nation's youth comes forth, 

In its fresh and glorious spring, 

Truth and verdure, might and worth. 

Old men shall bear sway no more ; 

We have found a sager plan ; 
Youth is wisdom, age a bore, 

The Boy is father to the Man. 

Greybeards go ! — at push-pin play, 

Or of cards make mimic troops ; 
Beardless boys the state shall sway — 

Boys who never trundled hoops ! 

Stateswew have been tried, and found 
Wanting when they're wanted most : 

States^op now the world around 
Shall henceforward rule the roast. 

The brilliant success of the Stonehenge question agi- 
tated and depressed Mac Morris ; but the effect was not 
lasting ; the generosity of his disposition exempted him 
from envy, and he recollected, too, that he had friends in 

*'■ The song, commencing " Brothers arise ! — the hour is come !" 
— entitled " Address of Young England to Young Ireland," and 
stated to be the production of an English Puseyite, " representing 
the sentiments of many of that great party." 


Ireland, particularly O'Harper, in whose hands his repu- 
tation was secure. On the whole, he was rapidly regaining 
the " tranquil mind," to which he had so lately bid fare- 
well ; submitting to the fate, which, but the other day 
seemed utterly intolerable, and more disposed to weave 
new projects of ambition, compatible with his private cir- 
cumstances, than to mourn over the wreck of prospects 
not to be reconciled with them. 

Did other thoughts ever occupy him now ? Now that 
an Irish career was hopeless— that the motive was taken 
away for persevering in the rigour of Celtic principles — 
did memory ever take the opportunity of bringing back 
an admired shape, or reviving a strain which had before 
pleased him ? Did Mab ever tickle his sleeping fancy 
with a sprig of myrtle, or love ever address a shaft to his 
heart inscribed with the name of Emily ? Interpreting 
his mind by his conduct, there is reason to think that 
Memory, Mab, and Cupid, all did as we have supposed. 
Perhaps the softening influence of his associations with 
Young England mitigated his scorn of the British fair — 
wild friendships might well suggest ideas of wild loves. 
Ah, Mac Morris, you forgot that it is with prejudice as 
with virtue — one step aside is fatal : we must guard the 
outworks, or soon be driven from the citadel ! 

If any fair reader of this tale, addicted to drawing-room 
horticulture, has ever marked the root of tulip or hyacinth 
in its blue or rosy glass, and watched it gradually throwing 
out its fine white fibres, multiplying every day, and twining 
and lengthening as they multiply, until the entire space 
is crowded with a maze of delicate ramifications, it will 
help her (if help be wanting) to conceive how the idea of 


Emily Falcon having once planted itself in the heart of 
young Mac Morris may have grown and fastened there, 
with a fibre for every charm, her youth, her beauty, her 
voice, her enthusiasm, her sympathies with the pursuits 
of heroes. This may be all a theory, for the breast of the 
most open-hearted Irishman is not transparent, like a 
flower-glass ; but it will soon appear whether it is, or is 
not, a probable account of transactions invisible to human 

Moore received an answer from Mrs. Vernon Sharpe, 
and instantly went in search of Tierna, whom he found 
recovered and tranquil to a degree that not a little sur- 
prised him. 

" Tierna," he said, after a little previous conversation, 
" I am going down with some common friends of ours to 
spend a few days in Hertfordshire, and enjoy the humours 
of monastic life with St. John Crozier (a devout celiba- 
taire of my acquaintance), at his father's seat. "What say 
you ; are you too deep in English law, or German mysti- 
cism, to join us ?" 

"No," said Mac Morris, with gravity, "but I have 
other avocations ; I have already declined a pressing invi- 
tation from Palmer to join the same party." 

" Eor the benefit of your health — " 

" Health is of no value now." 

" "Would beauty tempt you from town?" 

" No." 

" Beauty and music together ?" 

" They have lost their power." 

" A dark-haired soprano ?" 

" No." 


" The lad}', I mean, whose voice you heard in Portland- 
place ?" 

" She had auburn hair, and her voice was not a soprano," 
said Tierna, quickly. 

"Ha!" exclaimed Moore, smiling, "I am not sorry, 
Mac Morris, to find you have a memory for other things 
as well as sentimental wrongs and Celtic barbarisms." 

" It is not so difficult to remember a particular style of 
beauty and voice, is it?" said Tierna, in some confusion. 

" There are beauties and voices, on the contrary," said 

Moore, " which it is very difficult to forget. 

' Oh, there are looks and tones that dart 
A sudden sunshine through the heart, 
As if the soul that moment caught 
Some treasure it through life had sought.' 

But I am sorry we cannot have you with us ; well, au 

revoir;" and Dominick rose and moved towards the door. 

" But, Dominick, the Balcons cannot possibly be at 
St. Eonald's," said Tierna, by no means disposed to let 
Moore go. 

" I have reason to think they are in the neighbour- 
hood; I know they are somewhere in Herts, for Mrs. 
Falcon invited me to visit her ; by-the-by, her invitation 
included you." 

" I was meditating an excursion to the Channel 
Islands ; — in fact, the truth is, Dominick, I do find that 
my health requires renovation." 

" The Channel Islands ! — to agitate Alderney — to fra- 
ternise with young Sark! Never mind the Channel 
Islands ; at least, let us rusticate for a week together in 

" When do you go down ?" 


" To-morrow." 

" I will follow you on tlie next day, or the day after. I 
feel that I require the air of the mountains." 

" Mountains in Hertfordshire ! Tou would tear a Saxon 
to pieces who should betray the same topographical igno- 
rance of Connaught, and talk of the sylvan shades of 
Connemara ! No, you will see neither heath nor moun- 
tain, but the glorious old oaks of England, those venerable 
forests where, as Montesquieu finely says, ' the beautiful 
system of British liberty was first invented.' " 

" I detest forest scenery," said Tierna ; " it is essentially 


" If any man is fully satisfied that there is a divine command, 
or a human law, by wliioli he is bound to build a monastery and 
carry on monasticJsm, let him pursue his convictions, without 
troubling himself about the consequences." 

1'reface to " The Bark Jtjes." 

" She went, pursuant to her plan, 
To Mecca with the caravan." 

The Spleen. 


It was now the middle of June, and of the many lovely 
places in Saxon land which were blooming and exulting 
in the warmth and splendour of the season, not the least 
charming was the villa of Sir Frederick Crozier, in Hert- 
fordshire, where the mercurial Moore and the saturnine 
Mac Morris had each a double invitation. 


The hour was about two iu the afternoon ; the heat 
excessive : everything that chirruped, crept, or fluttered, 
save the grasshoppers and the chilliest flies, had sought 
shelter from the sun in bush or bower. A spacious glass- 
door admitted a flood of light, softened and made rosy by 
drapery of that hue, into an octagon apartment, which 
seemed halfjibrary, half-music-room, but was certainly a 
female sanctuary, for the books belonged to the light 
troops of literature, and the flowers in the vases, the 
elegant lumber on the small tables, a piano, a harp, and 
other details of the furniture, led irresistibly to that con- 
clusion. Amongst the books in glittering bindings 
which littered the central table might have been observed 
the novels of Disraeli, the poetry of Milnes, the theology 
of Pusey,and a certain little work as bright and green as 
a live emerald, with the Irish harp refulgent on the 
cover. A few pictures of the Italian school (believed 
originals, probably only good copies) glowed upon the 
walls ; a head of St. Augustine by G-uido, a cave by Eosa, 
and a bridge in Venice by Canaletti. There were also 
scattered about in graceful anarchy a few bronzes and 
alabasters, small, but after the antique ; and on a fragile 
little table inlaid with ivory, and upon a prie-dieu beside 
it, might have been remarked the materials and ma- 
chinery of dilettanti needlework, which betrayed, upon 
close inspection, the labours of tractarian fingers ; a long, 
narrow scarf, seemingly intended for a stole, or ovarium 
(one of the most ancient vestments of the Christian clergy), 
had the Greek word Ayios (holy) thrice embroidered on 
it ; and a purse of silk net-work was partially wrought in 
old English characters, with the monkish word elee- 


mosykakia, upon a Lint taken from a passage in Mr. 
Maitland's work on the Dark Ages, -which had evidently- 
been recently consulted, for it lay open on the prie-dieu 
at the place in question.* 

The windows of the apartment, which reached to the 
ground, stood open as well as the glass-door ; and their 
curtains of rose-coloured silk, blended with white gauze, 
contributed not only to mellow the light, but to freshen 
the atmosphere by fanning it. There was a delicious 
incense floating about, a compound of a dozen perfumes, 
proceeding from no Saba3an caskets, but wafted into the 
octagon from an outer wilderness of shrubs and flowers, 
into which you might step directly by more than one 
place of egress. At the side of one window hung a cage 
of gilt wire, tenanted by a certain canary, who was just 
then mute, either out of his birdly caprice, or because the 
sultry hour indisposed him to vocal exertion. At inter- 
vals, however, some brisk linnet, or gayer goldfinch, per- 
haps seeking cooler retreat, would come fluttering in, hop 
on a vase, or the finger of a marble nymph, and try with 
more or less success to open a moment's flirtation with 
the captive songster in the saffron plumes. A particular 
goldfinch, indeed, seemed to have a Celtic predilection for 
that colour, for he repeated the experiment twice or 
thrice, but each time did the slight rustling of the silk or 
muslin (which seemed to be in the Saxon interest) repel 
the intruder, who hopped forth again into the garden, 
with a small twittering note, scarce louder than the flutter 

* Page 80 — " Super altare ipsius ecclesite cleemosynariam (a 
beautiful name for a purse) meam, lapidem beryllum intus ka- 
bentem, propria maim imposui." 


of his tiny pinions. But the birds were not the only in- 
terlopers ; some jessamines and woodbines came creeping 
and prying with their long inquisitive branches, laden 
with odorous blossoms, into the mysteries of the interior ; 
and these were sometimes but the precursors of bees and 
butterflies which took the same liberties, and seemed by 
their unrestrained hummings and flutterings to consider 
themselves freeholders of the place. So, at any rate, did 
the next visitor who entered, who was no other than our 
blooming Zingaree, in all her midsummer glory, and 
looking as much at home as if St. Ronald's" had been the 
Ealcons' nest for a hundred years. She halted before the 
little work-table, examined with feminine curiosity the 
scarf broidered with ecclesiastical devices, and threw it 
over her shoulders, perhaps out of the force of habit, 
perhaps to see how she would look in a canonical garb. 

"I wonder where Miss Spriggs can be," she then ob- 
served audibly, and taking up a parasol that lay on a 
sofa, she opened it, and proceeded under its shelter into 
the garden upon which the room opened, as if she there 
expected to find her convenient protegee — the finishing 

She had scarce disappeared behind a clump of acacias, 
when two other ladies entered ; one was Emily Falcon, 
the other was Anastasia Crozier, a girl of about Emily's 
age, with features whose animation atoned for their irre- 
gularity ; nobody called her handsome, yet she possessed 
a good temper, a good complexion, and a good figure, 
three most important ingredients of beauty. It was 
evident she was the Puseyitical sempstress, for she missed 
the orarium at a glance, and after looking for it in vain, 


she took her seat on the prie-dieu, and proceeded to com- 
plete the purse. 

" Only St. John has been so impatient for his scarf," 
she said to her companion, " I should have finished your 
purse long ago. I positively will finish it before I begin 
the cover for the fald-stool."* 

"No, indeed, you shall not, Anastasia," said Emily; 
" we have been sadly in j-our brother's way ; it has really 
made us very unhappy." 

" Nonsense, you are not more in his way than my sister 
and I are ; St.* John had no notion that any of us would 
be here this summer. My father changed his plans quite 

" But your brother was so bent on his experiment." 

" A nice experiment, indeed ! — Oh, no, I go with St. 
John a great way, but I can't go the length of monasteries 
at this time of day. I quite agree with poor Miss Spriggs 
upon that point." 

" Poor Miss Spriggs !" repeated Emily. 

" Poor thing ! she is perfectly miserable ; she won't 
pass the door of St. John's Oratory ; I'm certain it was 
she who broke the nose of Dr. Pusey's statue in the hall." 

" I was afraid it was Willy," said Emily ; " but indeed, 
Anastasia, your sister teases Miss Spriggs too much. 
She makes her maid keep ringing the bells, and talks as 
solemnly of the Chapel of Loretto and the Holy Coat at 
Treves, as if she went quite as far as your brother and 
Mr. Cyprian Palmer." 

" Mr. Palmer left us this morning, on a pilgrimage to 

* A small desk in the middle of the choir, at which the litany 
is said or sung in churches medievally adjusted. 

01?, YOUNG IRELAND. 241 

Treves," said Miss Crozier. "I think he was even more 
disappointed than my brother." 

"It is all our fault," said Miss Falcon, seriously dis- 
tressed at being partly the innocent cause of interrupting 
Mr. Crozier' s plans. 

" JNow, you must not tease yourself about it, Emily ; 
the house is large enough, after all, for us women and St. 
John's monks. He expects Mr. De Goslyn, Lord Lodore, 
and Mr. Moore this evening." 

" What Mr. Moore?" 

" One of the most enthusiastic of them all, an Irish 
gentleman — a lawyer — I believe." 

" Dear me ! — I know a Mr. Moore, — an Irish gentle- 
man, and a lawyer in the Temple." 

" A friend of Mr. Mac Morris, the young man they 
call the Irish Coningsby."- — Emily coloured, she knew 
not why, but quickly recovered herself, and said that Mr. 
Moore was the last man in the world she would suppose 
to be seriously given to monastic tastes. 

" Do you know Mr. Mac Morris ?" — Emily blushed 

" I know you admire him," Miss Crozier maliciously 
continued ; " you are such a hero-worshipper, Emily ; 
I have found that out, my dear girl, short as our acquaint- 
ance has been." 

" I take a great interest, Anastasia, in Ireland, and of 
course I respect those who are enthusiastic in her cause," 
replied Miss Ealcon. 

" Respect!" repeated Miss Crozier. 

" And admire, to a certain extent, I admit," said 


Emily, with an embarrassment which she me I in vairi to 

'•' I should like to know Mr. Mac Mc nris. from what I 
hear of him. Our Young England men are so solemn and 
formal, don't yon think so ':" 

" They are so wise and learned. Auasrashm' 

'■' Humph,'' said IMiss Crozier. as if she thought not 
very highly of the white waistcoats of her acquaintance. 
'■ But. Emily, have you seen the Oratory':* Come, and 
I'll show it to you. St. John is busy preparing the dor- 
mitory : he is miserahle because he has not got a hair- 
shirt for Mr. Moore." 

The Oratory, or chapel, at St. Ronald's, was an octagon 
corresponding to that which has already been described, 
and the shape gave Mr. St. John Crozier not a little un- 
easiness, for it was not a recognised figure in church 
architecture, a subject in which he was deeply and, per- 
haps, somewhat extravagantly interested. The room had 
been fitted up, however, and altered in some particulars, 
so as to give it as much of an ecclesiastical air as possible. 
The windows and doors had been narrowed and gothioised. 
and the former were of richly-stained glass, displaying 
lambs, crosses, mitres, cherubs, and many other ecclesias- 
tical emblems, one small scarlet pane in the centre of 
each, exhibiting the celebrated number XC. in golden 
characters. It was evident that the painting had been 
executed by an artist minutely acquainted with the he- 

* An Oratory is a private chapel for the convenience of a pri- 
vate family. — See Br. H-vJ. ; s Church Dictionary. Oratories are 
not endowed, but they ought to be consecrated.— See Buna's 
Hcdesiastical Laic. 


raldry of the Church. St. Mark was there with his 
winged lion, St. Luke with his winged ox, St. John with 
his eagle and chalice, and St. Matthew with his cup and 
hatchet. The draperies were of dark purple velvet. 
fringed deeply with gold lace, and were executed in the 
most sombre and gorgeous style of Puseyitical upholstery, 
At intervals were a few pictures by the old masters, a 
Madonna, a St. Bernard, and the Martyrdom of St. Sebas- 
tian. Opposite to the St. Sebastian was a portrait of 
Archbishop Laud, by a painter of the Elemish school. The 
general effect was rich and solemn, while the minute ar- 
rangements of the crypt might have made a tractarian 
duchess covet it for a boudoir. A small but ponderous 
marble table represented an altar, or was one in reality. 
It supported an object covered with a little cloud of 
silvery gauze, which, when Miss Crozier raised it reve- 
rentially, revealed the awful Eoman Catholic symbol of 
the Christian faith. Two gigantic and massive gold 
candlesticks flanked the crucifix, and bore equally tall 
wax candles, which were lighted, although at that hour 
there was no need of artificial illumination. In front of 
the crucifix was placed a richly sculptured gold box, pro- 
tected by a velvet case, adorned by Miss Crozier's needle. 
She opened the box, which was a reliquary, to exhibit its 
divine contents, and Emily had the extreme gratification 
of seeing a tooth of St. Munchin, and several dry frag- 
ments of bones, alleged to have long ago formed part of 
the personal property of St. Eonald himself, the patron 
and godfather of the villa. 
Emily observed that the altar or stone table was strewn 



with flowers: roses, pinks, passion-flowers, vine-leaves, 
and some of the loveliest and rarest productions of the 

"Part of my duty," said Anastasia; "I bring fresh 
ones every day ; — when the heat has subsided, you will 
come with me to the garden to renew these." 

" The custom is a very beautiful one," said Emily. 

" It descends to us from beautiful times," said Anas- 
tasia, upon whom the ecclesiastical institutions of the 
middle ages had exercised that poetical sway which is so 
near akin to religious influence. " These things," says 
St. Jerome, " are trifling in themselves, but a pious mind 
is intent upon small things, as well as great." 

Miss Palcon next remarked, nearly in the centre of the 
chapel, a large gilt eagle, whose outspread wings sup- 
ported a volume of great size, bound with extraordinary 
splendour. She was much surprised when her friend in- 
formed her that the covers of the book were hollow, and 
contained some relics nearly as sacred, and possessing as 
much miraculous virtue, as those in the gold box. 

" Miss Spriggs won't be persuaded that we don't wor- 
ship this eagle," said Miss Crozier ; " it makes a very 
beautiful reading-desk, does it not ?" 

" Is it an idea of your brother's ?" 

" Oh, no ; it is very antique ; the eagle was the crest 
of one of the Apostles. My brother is wild upon eccle- 
siastical heraldry. Now let us take a peep into the 

_ * Maitland describes the Scriptorium of the Monastery of Mon- 
tier-la-Celle, near Troyes, as a little writing-room, shut in and 
concealed on every side by the various parts of the Monastery. 


This was the latest of St. John's little monastic ar- 
rangements, and was a very small closet, or study, com- 
municating, by an invisible door and a small dark winding 
stair, with the Oratory. It was solidly and austerely 
furnished ; there was no fireplace, and the chairs, which 
were oaken, seemed made on the greatest-possible-dis- 
comfort-to-the-sitter principle. Emily observed several 
articles of monastic dress scattered about the cell, a cowl, 
an alb, or surplice, and a hair-shirt, made, Miss Crozier 
assured her, by the first conventual haberdasher of Ox- 

Descending from the Scriptorium, they had to cross the 
Oratory again, and a strong beam of sunshine happening 
just" at the instant to strike through the central pane in 
one of the windows, the mysterious XC. appeared bla- 
zoned thrice in burnished gold, set in bright scarlet, upon 
the polished oaken floor. Mr. St. John Crozier (who 
meanwhile had entered the chapel) stood with his eyes 
riveted upon the Soman numeral and golden number. 
Had he been educated at secular and scientific Cam- 
bridge, he would have seen nothing in the phenomenon 
but a familiar optical effect ; but, having been nurtured 
at spiritual and believing Oxford, he gazed upon the 
glowing letters with holy rapture, and considered them 
fully as miraculous an inscription as the writing on the 
wall of Belshazzar's banquet-room. 


" Tantrene animis celestibus iree ?" 


" In woman's breast can anger dwell, 
Or haunt the still monastic cell ?" 

Anon's Translation. 


Meanwhile the gipsy, looking reverend and very- 
reverend in St. John Crozier's stole, had found her 
friend and ally, Miss Spriggs, in a deep recess of a 
shrubbery, where she had retired to be removed as far 
as possible from the tinkling of bells and the other popish 
abominations of the villa. She was sitting alone and in 
dudgeon, engaged in repairing a white stocking which 
ought to have been a blue one. Mrs. Falcon seated her- 
self beside her, and inquired in her blandest tones, but 
still with the air of a patroness, " How she liked her 
pupils, and what progress they were making?" 

But Miss Spriggs must first sit for her picture. She 
was as lean as a church mouse, and as tall as a church 
steeple, with an orange complexion, anti-Maynooth eyes, 
no-popery lips, an Exeter Hall tongue, and a Protestant 
ascendancy gait of going. She had two points about her, 
and only two, in keeping with the religious character of 
the house into which Mrs. Falcon had so daringly intro- 
duced her ; she belonged to the remotest of the middle 
ages, and was so starched and parched, adust and bony, 


that had there been a dearth of genuine canonised re- 
mains, her person could have supplied all the reliquaries 
in Oxford with exceedingly plausible substitutes for them. 
Voila, Eebecca Spriggs ! 

The reply she made as to the progress of her pupils not 
having been very satisfactory, Mrs. Falcon hoped " the 
other girls" did not distract their attention. 

" I should not allow it," said Miss Spriggs, pragmati- 
cally and pedagogically. 

" Oh, indeed, Miss Spriggs, I am sure you would not, 
you know your duty too well," said the gipsy. 

" I ought to know it, and I hope I do know it, madam," 
replied the puritanical preceptress, with more pepper than 

"They must pick up a good deal," continued Mrs. 
Falcon, with unabated courtesy, "by merely sitting in 
the room during school hours and hearing your remarks 
and conversations." 

" It must be their own fault if they do not," said the 
finishing governess, with vanity and vinegar, confidence 
and cayenne. 

" I hope they are attending particularly to their Italian 
and German, my dear Miss Spriggs." 

" They are reading Dante at present, and the ' Purga- 
torio' is, of course, the favourite part, but I am determined 
they shall not read it:" — with Exeter Hall emphasis on 
the word " Purgatorio," and ascendancy stress on the 
word " determined." 

" Oh, dear Miss Spriggs, they must read what you 
please, and nothing else — of course, they must !"■ 

" They shall only read the ' Inferno,' " said the puri- 


tanical preceptress, with brimstone enough for a congre- 
gation of Eoundheads, and looking (as she pronounced 
the word "Inferno") qualified to fill the office of nursery 
governess in the family of Apollyon, or Mephistopheles. 

" And you don't allow them to neglect their singing, I 
hope and trust," continued the gipsy. 

" Their singing ! they have no voices — wretched fal~ 
settos," said Miss Spriggs. 

" No voices ! Emily ! — wretched falsetto ?" 

"No, but the Misses Crazier, my pupils, madam!" — 
How that " madam" was delivered ! 

" Oh !" said Mrs. Falcon, rising, and looking lofty and 
resentful, " I see how it is, Miss Spriggs." And there, 
then, ensued a short but acrimonious and impassioned 
altercation between the two ladies, in the course of which 
the word "ingratitude" was heard from one mouth, and 
the word "conscience" from the other. Then Miss 
Spriggs repeated the word "ingratitude," with indigna- 
tion, and Mrs. Falcon re-echoed the word " conscience," 
with disdain. The maiden then charged the matron with 
Puseyism, and the matron retorted with the accusation 
of Bigotry. The next missile at the gipsy was an indict- 
ment for Popery, which was promptly retaliated with one 
for Intolerance. This provoked Miss Spriggs to throw 
the bones of St. Ronald in Mrs. Falcon's teeth, and the 
latter lady reiterated the word "bones" in so personal a 
tone, and with such a pointed look, that Miss Spriggs 
felt her own bones were the subject of sarcasm. To what 
further ladylike lengths the controversy might have pro- 
ceeded, it is hard to say, but just at this interesting crisis 


it was interrupted by the sudden approach of Moore, 
Skiddaw, and De Goslyn, who had just arrived at the 

The gipsy and the governess abruptly withdrew by 
different paths ; both, perhaps, feeling too excited after 
their wordy war to receive company. Moore prodigiously 
enjoyed the surprise and dismay of his companions at 
seeing two ladies seemingly established (one of them 
looking perfectly at home) in a place where they under- 
stood that the presence of a woman was " direct against 
the laws of the foundation." 

" Crozier has been hoaxing us," said De Goslyn, indig- 

" Can he have apostatised to Wardism ?" asked Skid- 

"It would seem so," said Moore; " he fancied he had 
a vocation, and found he had none." 

" I am bitterly disappointed," said De Goslyn. 

" It's revolting," said Skiddaw. 

"Perhaps," said Moore, "we do him injustice. May 
not the fat lady be the cook of the monastery, or the 
housekeeper, and the other perhaps the laundress ?" 

"Moore," said De Goslyn, "the fat lady is very like 
the buxom brunette you and I met some time since at 
Bompas's, in Bryanston-square, the family hotel, you 
know. By-the-by, she had not only the modesty to ask 
me that night to drop her at Portland-place, on my way 
to Kensington, but she borrowed my mother's carriage 
for the next day, and sent home the horses so jaded, that 
they were not worth a farthing for a week. If I am right, 


her name is Falcon, and she can't be either cook or house- 
keeper ; nay, what's still worse, she has two very beautiful 

"There is something about it that I can't understand," 
said Moore ; " it looks very like what Maitland calls ' play- 
ing at monkery ' * But why were you so green as to 
lend Mrs. Falcon the carriage ?" 

" "Why, she talked so much of the influence of her 
family, the Hawkes, in High-Cocking (the place, you 
know, that I am up for), that I really believed she could 
command votes enough there to turn the election ; but 
she no sooner secured the loan of the coach, than she 
suddenly discovered that she meant Cockerrnouth. But 
see! — more womankind, I protest!" 

"Another and another!" exclaimed Skiddaw, highly 
incensed, as two pretty girls made their appearance. 

The two pretty girls were Miss Lucy Falcon, and the 
second Miss Crozier. The former graciously recognised 
Moore and De Goslyn, as she tripped by, playing coquet- 
tishly with an Italian greyhound. 

" It is positively abominable," said Skiddaw, with a re- 
trospective glance at Egyptian Lucy, excusable enough if 
he had not just used such a strong word, and laid such 
emphasis upon it. 

* Preface to the " Dark Ages," where the learned librarian of 
Lambeth seriously discusses a proposition to revive monastic in- 
stitutions in England. Maitland does not name the authors of 
the proposition for various reasons, but there can be little doubt 
that " the lively young men" he alludes to, are Mr. St. John Cro- 
zier and the Monks of St. Ronald's. 



" Consider what you first did swear unto ; 
To fast, to study, and to see no woman ; 
Flat treason 'gainst the kingly state of youth. 
Say, cau you fast ? Your stomachs are too young ; 
And abstinence engenders maladies. 
Then, when would you, my lord, or you, or you. 
Have found the ground of study's excellence, 
Without the beauty of a woman's face ?" 

Love's Labour Lost. 


" ]N"ow, not a word, my dear Crozier ; make no apology," 
said Moore, to the unfortunate St. John, who met his 
guests in great tribulation at the failure of the project on 
which he had set his heart. 

" Tell us candidly, Crozier, has "Ward been with you ?" 
asked Lord Lodore, who had just arrived. 

" jSo, upon my honour," said Crozier, with energy and 

"Or Milnes?" asked De Groslyn. "Deal frankly 
with us." 


" Yes, your monastery is so very oriental, that I cannot 
help asking the question — Has Milnes made you a con- 
vert to his Hareem system?"* 

* The work of Mr. Monckton Milnes, entitled " Palm Leaves," 
contains the germ of a project for orientalising the relations of 
the sexes. It is gratifying to think that the zeal of our "lively 
young men" for Eastern travel is one according to knowledge ; 


" No, by the rood !" protested Crozier. 

" Crozier, my dear fellow," said Moore, " your failure, 
as far as you have failed, only proves the truth of what 
Maitland has strenuously urged. It is easy to say, ' I will 
be a monk of the fourth century, or a monk of the 
twelfth;' but when we come to try the experiment, it 
ends in our being monks of the nineteenth century, to 
which era of the world I consider the monastery of St. 
Ronald's to belong ; and I, therefore, propose that we put 
our heads together, and organise it on hodierno-mediaeval 

"But in no century," said LordLodore, "do I see how 
monastic rule is to be reconciled with the presence of so 
great a number of the fair sex, and very fair too, as Crozier 
has assembled upon the present occasion." 

"That is my difficulty, too," said Skiddaw. 

"In fact," said De Goslyn, "if Crozier had meditated 
a heavy blow and a great discouragement to celibacy, he 
could not have taken his measures with more address." 

" I believe there are precedents in conventual history," 
said Moore, deliberatively, " for the reunion of the sexes 
under the same monastic roof; at all events, there is the 
memorable example of the Abbey of Theleme, which we 
cannot do better than adopt provisionally for our model." 

" I don't remember to have heard of that abbey," said 
Lord Lodore ; " under what rule was it, and by whom 

" It was founded by Gargantua the Great, and the rule 

and that one of their objects is to exalt woman from the degraded 
position she holds in England, to the state of dignity and im- 
portance she enjoys in Turkey ! 

01?, YOUNG IRELAND. 253 

had only one clause — ' Do what thou wilt.' Now, can 
we adopt a more agreeable or a more commodious one, 
under existing circumstances? I, therefore, move that 
this be constituted a Gargantuan abbey, and that the 
blooming Mrs. ITalcon be appointed Abbess of Theleme."* 

Looks were interchanged, and murmurs uttered ; but 
in cases of this kind the man of mercurial temperament 
and voluble discourse, when he is good-natured and 
popular, commonly carries his proposition ; and it was 
generally but tacitly agreed (Skiddaw being the chief 
objector) that the principle of the Thelemite monastery 
should be acted upon provisionally, at least so far as 
meeting the women in the refectory, and relaxing con- 
ventual strictness in a few other minor matters, out of 
compliment to them. 

In the drawing-room they found the ladies assembled, 
and also two more arrivals from Oxford, Mr. Monk and 
Mr. St. Crispin, looking as much amazed and discon- 
certed as if they had been suddenly dropped into a coterie 
of mermaids in some sub -marine bower. 

The hour now suggested carnivorous ideas, and Moore 
discoursed of the refectories of convents, with great 
unction, and more learning than it was supposed he 
possessed on monastic affairs. 

" Would you take a crust of our pants monachal is, or a 
few parched peas and a cup of water ?" said Crozier, per- 
ceiving in what channel Dominick's thoughts were run- 
ning. — Moore alluded to the time of the day, which was 
verging towards six o'clock, and declined to forestal tho 
hour of refection. 

* Life of the Great Gargalitua. Book I., chap. 52. 


"Tou forget," said Crozier, "that this is the eve of 
St. Munchin." 

"No such saint recognised in the Abbey of Theleme," 
replied Moore ; " do you fast on St. Munchin's eve, Mrs. 
Falcon?" — The gipsy had never done that honour to St. 
Munchin, or any other saint in the calendar. 

" Moore, be rational ! — this is a fast, and a very strict 

" Come, Lord Abbot, be serious, and order dinner." 

" I am perfectly serious. I am not an Abbot of 

" But minor matters, you know — " 

"Do you call feasting a minor matter ?" 

"Ko, but fasting is." — Several of the monks were with 
Moore in their hearts, although they venerated St. Mun- 
chin nearly as much as if he had been an evangelist, or 
one of the Apostles. 

" Come, Crozier, order dinner," said Moore again, 
uncertain whether his Puseyitical friends were in jest 
or earnest. 

" Moore's idea of the monastic system is a little too 
secular," said St. Crispin, who was not severe in his 
language, as he was very hungry. 

" Were I to paint the Genius of the monastic system," 
said Moore, " I would represent it fair and festive, comely 
and convivial, social and free, bountifully giving, aye, and 
bountifully taking and enjoying, too : — let it be mediasval, 
if you like ; nay, I have no objection to a touch of the 
dark ages, just enough to give it a gipsy bloom : — in fact, 
I would petition our Mother Abbess to sit for the pic- 
ture. Ah ! — what do I see?" he continued in the same 


strain of pleasant personality (the gaiety of his manner 
redeeming what was objectionable in it), "have I for- 
gotten my Greek, or do I not recognise in that embroi- 
dered scarf she wears, one of the most ancient and im- 
posing of our ecclesiastical vestments ? I think, Crozier, 
you call it the stole." 

The name was certainly appropriate ; and Miss Crozier 
was happy to recover in so pleasant a way her brother's 
orarium, which was identified beyond all doubt by the 
word Ayios in her own needlework upon the border. 
The incident caused some amusement, and Mrs. Falcon 
enjoyed the conviction of her sacrilegious theft as heartily 
as any of the company. 

"I was always called the Magpie," she said, " when I 
was a girl." — Just at this moment a bell was heard, and 
Mr. St. John Crozier started, looked at Monk, and then 
at his sister. 

"Why that's the refectory bell!" all three exclaimed 

" I knew the fast was a jest," cried Moore. 

"It must be a mistake of the refectionarius," said 
Crozier, aghast at the prospect of a dinner. 

" Or the coquinarius" said Monk. 

" A mistake for which I am not sorry," said De Goslyn 
aside to Lodore. 

"My coquinarius is generally accurate," said Crozier. 

" Can the mistake have been ours ?" said Skiddaw, 
looking at his pocket calendar, or compotus, as he called 
it. " I protest," he exclaimed, " your coquinarius is 
right, — this is St. Munchin'a Day .'" 

" Come, Lord Abbot !— to the refectory !" cried Moore, 


ami Mr. St. John Crozier (his confusion increased by this 
fresli instance of conventional irregularity) conducted our 
magnificent marauder to that important apartment of the 
monastery. Miss Crozier fell to Dominick Moore ; Lord 
Lodorc led out our heroine ; Tom Skiddaw secured her 
sister Lucy; St. Crispin and Mr. Monk escorted Miss 
Spriggs and the second Miss Crazier. Mr. Hilary L>e 
Goslyn brought up the rear in solitary state, looking in 
his vast expanse of white waistcoat, which his coat was 
thrown open to exhibit to its full extent, not unlike the 
bird whose name he bore. 

If the praise of young Mac Morris was sweet to the 
ear of Emily Paleon, she was gratified that day. — Lord 
Lodore asked whether our hero's tastes were media'val. 

" His ideas range much further back," said Moore ; 
"he is for stone altars, like us ; but the altar must be a 

"I suspect," said Monk, "he lias a little hankering 
after the worship of the sun." 

" One of liis bright dreams — no more," said Dominieh. 
" Yet," said St. Crispin, " 1 wish lie would consent to 
have his hand christened." 

" He would sooner consent to have it cut oil'," replied 

"How absurd to call those ages dark !" said Lord 

" Dusky as night, but night with all her stars," said 
St. Crispin. 

" Of all ages the most luminous, in my opinion," said 
Clement Monk. 

" Luminous enough for me," said Do Goslyn. 

OB, YOriffl IKELAJfK. 257 

'• But yon must admit, Mr. De Ooslvn,'' said the gipsy, 
fearlessly mixing in the conversation, '' that the introduc- 
tion of gas was a great improvement." 

" I wanted Mac Morris to join us here this summer," 
said Cro/.ier, observing that Mrs. Falcon had exhausted 
the topic of the Dark Ages. 

"And I hope," said Moore, "you have his cell pre- 
pared, for he is coming down ; I expect hini in a day or 

lie glanced at Emily as he spoke, and so did Miss Cro- 
zier, who almost instantly said to Moore in a low tone — - 
" You have given a friend of yours a very agreeable piece 
of information." 

" I was conscious of it." said Dominick, and he had a 
eomersation with his fair neighbour, on the subject of 
Miss Falcon s feelings, which satisfied him that Mrs. 
Vernon Sharpe had not been idle. He did not reflect how 
much he had doue himself to possess our heroine's fancy 
with a romantic admiration for his friend. 

'"Mac Morris proposed to me," said St. Crispin, "to 
wear the white waist coai. if I would assume the saffron 
shirt ; but I did not consider the bargain fair." 

" 2\o." said Moore. " he ought to wear a white surplice, 
to make it a fair one ; the old Irish shin was in fact a 
surplice, only that it was yellow." 

" Don't talk of surplices !'' said Miss Spriggs. speaking 
gall, and looking wormwood. " I hate a surplice, and I 
don't know why."' 

" You have no objection to white, abbess f " said Moore 
to the gipsy, well knowing the liberality of thai incom- 
parable woman's opinions. 



" None in the world," she answered with a jolly laugh ; 
" I see no harm in white." 

" Some people see no harm in scarlet," said Miss 
Spriggs, thinking of a certain Italian lady of theological 
celebrity in Christendom. 

"I do not, for one," said the gipsy, "though I always 
wear black myself." 

" But to return to Mac Morris," said Mr. Crozier, 
sadly, " it is not fair to give him the trouble of coming 
down here, with expectations which it is but too evident 
it is not in our power to realise ; I shall write to him, and 
acquaint him with the change that circumstances have 
made in our original plan." 

" I think you ought," said Moore, maliciously, knowing 
that he was wounding a lady in the company, but looking 
at the same time at another lady, by whom perhaps he 
thought the wound would be soon healed. 

" No, indeed, you shall not, St. John," said Miss Cro- 
zier ; " perhaps Mr. Mac Morris will make as good a monk 
of the nineteenth century as any of you." 

"Why, I do think," said Moore, "he is better dis- 
posed as well as better fitted to be a Thelemite than a 

" I never saw a man so much changed in a short time," 
said St. Crispin ; " his political martyrdom seema to have 
quite softened him : he makes anagrams of ladies' names, 
and he showed me a sonnet, a very pretty one, too, to an 
Unseen Songstress." 

" Now," said Moore to himself, not venturing to look 
at Emily, " if my Machiavellian friend in Dublin is only 
playing the game well with Mr. Vincent Mac Morris 


this celibacy party will have a very droll and a very impor- 
tant termination." — On that same night, while the came- 
rarius was conducting the Thelemite monks to the dor- 
mitory, he presented Father Moore with a letter from our 
hero's uncle, bearing the Bath post-mark. It was ad- 
dressed to Dominick as the friend of Tigernach, and ran 
as follows : 

"Dear Mr. Moore, — My knowledge of your intimacy 
with my nephew, and the respect I feel for your character 
and judgment, will excuse me for employing you as the 
medium of a communication which I am desirous of 
making to him. I have heard with equal surprise and 
pleasure that he is not indisposed to form an attachment 
to an Englishwoman, of beauty and worth more than 
enough to compensate her want of fortune. In fact, I 
know something personally of the lady I allude to, and 
the union of my nephew with her would cheer the few 
days that I have yet to live. Tou will easily understand 
that the motives must be strong indeed to make me urge, 
or even sanction, a step which must inevitably produce a 
temporary estrangement between Tierna and his father. 
But the times alarm me, and I see no other way to save 
my nephew but to commit him irreconcilably with his 
rash and mischievous associates. This would infallibly be 
the result of his marriage with an English lady ; a pro- 
ceeding, therefore, in which I have made up my mind, 
after much anxious reflection, to support him with every 
farthing of my property 5 and he might also reckon upon 
the exertion of all my influence with my brother (if any I 
have) to reconcile him to the horrors of a Saxon daughter- 



in-law. Haying thus put you in possession of my views 
and intentions, I leave it to your own discretion to break 
them to my nephew in whatever manner you may think 
most likely to promote an object in which I have heard 
with satisfaction that I have your concurrence. 

" I remain, dear Mr. Moore, yours very sincerely, 

<: Vincent Mac Moeeis." 

" How skilfully she put the ease to him !" said Domi- 
nick, when he finished this important letter. "I question 
if any other consideration but that of actual danger would 
have induced Vincent to take the course he proposes. 
He thinks it better that Tierna should lose his little 
emerald diadem in Connaught, than inherit the crown of 
martyrdom from the Tones and Emmets ; so do T. too, 
and now to bed until the bell rings for matins. Be Gos- 
lyn may rise for nocturns if he likes." 

jNT either Crozier nor Monk slept canonical])" that night, 
so much were they both perplexed about the '" order," or 
rather the " disorder," proposed by Moore, for they could 
not consider Francis l\abelais as an orthodox authority 
on monastic affairs. They sat in the scriptorium upon 
two very hard chairs, with long faces, and making long 
speeches alternately upon the abstruse question which 
had been so very suddenly started for their wise heads to 
solve. Crozier would sometimes rise and consult the 
Monasticon, and Monk would sometimes rise too, to refer 
to his friend Palmer's great work on the " Intolerable 
Splendour of the Dark Ages." 

"All this is very unfortunate," said Crozier. 

"Yes," said Monk, "the first attempt to re-establish 


monastic establishments in this country ; what a triumph 
to Maitland, and all who prophesied our failure !" 

" I am not to be blamed," said Crozier, " yet I shall 
be accused of having mismanaged the revival. I feel 
that I can never show myself at Oxford — at least at Oriel 
— again." 

"And if," said Monk, "anything untoward should 
happen — " 

" Untoward ! Clement, what do you mean ? Can there 
be anything more untoward than what has occurred al- 
ready ?" 

" I mean anything matrimonial," said Monk. 

"Matrimonial!" repeated Crozier, with alarm. 

" Why, St. John, with so many pretty women assembled, 
and our monastic rule so imperfect, we cannot shut our 
eyes to the likelihood, or at least the chance, that things 
may happen here as they happen elsewhere, and some 
event occur of the disastrous nature to which I allude." 

" A marriage resulting from this experiment would be 
fatal to the cause of monachism for a century," said Cro- 
zier, in great affliction at the thought. 

" It certainly would," said Monk ; " what would you 
think of exacting a vow of celibacy from the whole party 
to-morrow ?" 

" It would be no use. Some would take it in a non- 
natural sense," said Crozier, " as Ward and the men of 
Baliol subscribe the articles, meaning to repudiate the 
doctrines of the Church of England."* 

" What do you think of Skiddaw ?" said Monk. 

* It is to be hoped the printers will not substitute Belial for 
Baliol in the text. 


" I think he has a hankering after "Wardism." 

" So do I," said Clement Monk, " and I think he has a 
hankering, too, after that pretty brown Miss Falcon !" 

"Our Ladye forbid!" cried St. John; "you heard 
Moore say to-day, at refection, that Mac Morris, an ex- 
travagant young Irishman at the Temple, was coming 
down in a day or two to join us." 

" Yes ; and it would be desirable, that in his presence 
everything should be conducted in the gravest manner 
and with the utmost solemnity." 

" My dear Monk, my sister tells me that there is every 
likelihood in the world of a match between him and the 
other Miss Falcon." 

"Two matches!" said Monk, aghast. — They looked 
down, and then they looked at one another, and then they 
looked down again, and, had Maitland been present, he 
would have addressed them, and said : " Why this, gen- 
tlemen of Oxford, is what I told you all along ; it is easy 
to talk of the fourth century, or of the twelfth century, 
but try to go back to them, and you will not find it so 

After sitting for some time in silence, with a hundred 
blue devils flitting a'bout, and the lamp very blue also, 
they thought it time to face the immediate difficulty be- 
fore them ; and shortly before first nocturns, after sundry 
consultations of the Monasticon, and numerous references 
to Palmer's work, Crozier made the happy discovery, that 
the Grilbertines, established by St. Gilbert at Sempringham, 
in Lincolnshire, had an order which admitted both nuns 
and monks in the same abbey, although in different apart- 
ments, and he found that at the dissolution of the monas- 


teries there were no fewer than nine such houses in dif- 
ferent parts of England. 

" A better precedent than the Abbey of Theleme," 
said Monk. " Trim the lamp, St. John." 

"But," said Crozier, " we have still to inquire whether, 
in a Gilbertine house, the sexes may meet in the refectory, 
as Father Dominick (who is a little secular in his views, 
I fear me) proposes that they should." 

" Upon that point," said Monk, " we Lad better not 
decide rashly ; postpone it until to-morrow, and in the 
mean time you and I will consider it maturely." 

"Let it be so," said Crozier; "shall we have the bell 
rung for first nocturns ?" 

" The hour is past," said Monk, "and besides, I doubt 
if anybody will attend nocturns but ourselves." 

" I can accommodate you with a discipline" said Cro- 
zier to his friend, as the latter now rose to retire ; and 
he presented Monk, as he spoke, with a small whip of 
twisted cords very temptingly knotted, which he wore at 
his girdle for his private penitential uses. 

" Thanks," said Monk, as he kindled his lamp and 
moved to the door, declining the proffered scourge. 

" Strange !" soliloquised Crozier ; " I have offered my 
discipline to St. Crispin, De Groslyn, Lodore, and Monk, 
and they have all rejected it — even Monk ! "We are a 
great way yet, I fear, from the wholesome practice of 

They separated until the hour of lauds, when Skiddaw 
and St. Crispin made their appearance, and shortly after- 
wards the devout sister Lucy, accompanied by the godly 
gipsy herself, who had exchanged her black velvet for a 


white desTialille-de-matin, to show how well she under- 
stood the immense importance of white raiment in the 
performance of religious offices. 

" There will certainly be one untoward event, St. John," 
said Monk, when the congregation had dispersed. 

""Well," said Crozier, "we can only do our best; if we 
fail, it will be the fault of a secular age, not of the genius 
of monastic institutions." 

" But we shall be fearfully ridiculed on the banks of 

" Be it so ! If we are not to enjoy the sweets of success, 
we must only console ourselves with the pleasures of per- 
secution. \Ve meet again at prime." 


" Hail old patrician trees, so great and good ! 
Hail ye plebeian underwood ! 
Where the poetic birds rejoice, 
And for their quiet nests and plenteous food, 
Pay, with their grateful voice." 



The grounds, to which the glass-door of the octagon 
drawing-room, above described, opened so pleasant a com- 
munication, were spacious and undulating, and the true 
poetry of gardening had transformed them long ago from 
a series of formal alleys and geometrical parterres, into a 
labyrinth, where it was easy to lose one's way amongst 


rosy thickets and a wilderness of shrubs. Still, in the 
abundance it possessed of flowers of all hues (cultivated 
with as much care as if they bloomed in circles and 
parallelograms), it was evident that, with all its seeming 
negligence, it owed its chief attractions to horticultural 
attention. But the character changed almost insensibly 
as the distance from the villa increased, becoming more of 
a copse than a garden : an underwood of birch and hazel 
taking the place of acacias and rhododendrons, and here 
and there a stately ash, or still more majestic oak, tower- 
ing with placid dignity above the plants of the middle 
and lower classes. The extent of this copse was very 
considerable ; many devious paths intersected it ; and it 
broke, now and then, at sharp turns, into open spaces, 
carpeted with heaths, interspersed sometimes with masses 
of lichened rock, on which the lizards raced, the wagtails 
hopped, or the linnets and finches " paid their quit-rent 
with a song." Beyond this region, again, the rover of the 
wilderness was tempted by winding ways of green velvet, 
broidered with the wild flowers of the season, into a tract 
of ancient forest, which had likewise its avenues and 
thoroughfares, one of which, more trodden than the rest 
(but not robbed of its verdure by the feet of passengers), 
communicated, at the distance of about a mile from the 
mansion, with the outer enclosure of St. Eonald's, and 
opened into a green lane, which you had only to follow 
for about two furlongs, to arrive at a village of the same 
name, which was part of the estate of Sir Frederick 

At this village, about the hour of four in the afternoon, 
on the second day after Moore's arrival, a handsome 


young man, with a pale cheek, an extravagant profusion 
of black hair, wrapped in a cloak of immense size, and 
provided with no luggage but a small portmanteau, might 
have been seen inquiring his nearest road to the residence 
of the Croziers. But few words passed between him and 
his informant. He left his portmanteau at the inn, to be 
forwarded by a conveyance that passed daily between the 
village and the mansion, and entering the grounds through 
a wicket, was soon lost sight of in the wood. 

Now was our Celtic hero's first opportunity (save in 
the parks of London) of comparing Irish scenery with 
English, and we have seen that, faithful to the antipathies 
of his party, he was strongly prejudiced against the Saxon 
woods. Perhaps, au fond, there was more of affectation 
than of reality in this as in some of his other prejudices, 
in the vitality of which those who best knew him were 
much disposed to disbelieve. Perhaps other thoughts 
that day had smoothed down his Celtic fierceness ; certain 
it is, that as he paced the sylvan track which he had been 
directed to pursue, the stillness, the solitude, the wild- 
ness, the verdure, and beauty of the scene gradually won 
upon his fancy, and at length began to excite his admira- 
tion. He was now for the first time in the august society 
of the monarch-trees of England. Now first did the 
druidical genius of the country appear, as it were, visibly 
before him, and touch him with its wand of mistletoe. 
Could he regard those sacred oaks with the feelings of a 
partisan ? He stood beneath the gnarled boughs of one 
mightier and more aged than the rest, gazed up through 
its hundred ancient but unwithered arms, and standing 

7 O 

there alone, in the silence of the dark-bright sanctuary of 


the forest, face to face with one of nature's grandest 
works, he felt like the awe-stricken Gaul of the classic 
legend, confronted in the forum with the speechless 
senator of Eome. Not for an empire could young Mac 
Morris have addressed that majestic tree and cried — 
" Down with the Saxon !" 

Not vainly did the priests of the old religions raise 
their altars in the groves, and consecrate to their demon- 
gods those leafy crypts of nature ; for thus they made 
truth the minister of error, and enshrined false creeds in 
eternal poetry. 

Such were more the feelings than the reflections of the 
susceptible young Irishman, as he proceeded on his way, 
unconsciously slackening his pace as he advanced, so 
much did the novel charm of the scene court him to 
linger amongst its beauties. Sometimes the antiquity, 
sometimes the stature, sometimes the fantastic forms of 
the trees arrested his attention. Xow a flash of golden 
sunshire, darting through an oriel, formed of opaque 
branches high in air, fell on the green floor of the natural 
temple, illustrating the flowers that enamelled it, and 
covering the small round tables of the chivalry of faery- 
land with cloth of woven light. Anon, a murmur, far 
above his head, would attract the attention of another 
sense ; and pursuing with his eye the line in which the 
plaintive sound seemed to have descended, dimly in the 
maze of foliage would he perceive the waving of a silver 
plume or two, detecting the mid-day retreat of a pair of 
ringdoves, old emblems of constancy, perennial types of 
union. The judgment of Tierna was not so healthy as his 
feelings ; the poetry of his mind was morbid — the poetry 


of his heart was true. Not vainly, with her painted 

flowers, her regal oaks, and her united birds, did Nature 

moralise that day to the understanding and affections of 

her casual, and almost reluctant votary ! 

He now emerged from the obscurity of the wood, and 

was on the point of entering the adjoining copse, when a 

bank cushioned with mosses, small ferns, and the wild 

strawberry, solicited him for a moment to sit and muse ; 

but he had sufficiently indulged in sylvan contemplations, 

and it was time to encourage sterner thoughts. As he 

drew from beneath his mantle the mutinous little green 

song-book, which has already been alluded to more than 

once in this history, his ear again caught the whisper of 

the reposing doves, dropping from the heights of the 

forest ; and again he paused to enjoy that exemplary 

sound, those musical and spousal murmurs. He opened 

the green book at random ; it was at the song of " English 

and Irish Eyes," a Celtic invective upon Saxon beauty, 

commencing — 

" The world's worth should not buy, lady, 
My heart for thee to wear." 

Scarcely had he glanced at the rude words, when a note, 
diviner ten thousand times than the whisper of the doves, 
or any bird's warbling, gently smote upon his sense — a 
short melodious peal of faery thunder. 

Starting on his feet, with an exclamation of delight and 
astonishment, he stood motionless as a statue of Silence 
for some minutes (just as he had been seen standing six 
weeks before in Portland-place), mutely awaiting a repe- 
tition of the magic note, his eye strained as intently as 
his ear in the direction from which the bewildering sound 


came. But it came no more — all was still again, as " sum- 
mer's noontide air" — save when a fly wound his horn, a 
leaf stirred, or the pigeons continued to coo. 

Tierna sprang into the copse, to pursue a strain like 
that of Ariel's, "played by the picture of Nobody." 
Never did huntsman so beat a cover. He overran and 
ransacked the whole underwood, examined and cross- 
examined (for he was a lawyer) every " lane and alley, 
green dingle, and bushy dell of that wild wood." The 
songster, — spirit, woman, or bird, — eluded his research. 
He started a hare or two, a few linnets, and a chaffinch ; 
but no nymph was to be found, not so much as a Dryad 
asleep, or a faery either awake or napping. Had he 
dreamed ? He was, no doubt, given to dreaming — to 
night-dreams and to day-dreams, too — but of one thing 
there was no doubt : whether he had heard the voice with 
the ear of sense, or the organ of imagination, it was the 
same he had once heard before, gushing from the window 
of a never-to-be-forgotten house in London. He stopped 
at length, not wearied, but in despair. The small green 
book was in his hand, still open at the tirade against the 
bright eyes of the daughters of England ; — he glanced at 
it again, commenced, read it, came to the stanza — 

" Then turn thine eyes away, lady, 
On others let them roam, 
My young heart cannot stray, lady, 
From our sweet eyes at home." 

A second time he perused the lines, with the corner of 
the page between his finger and thumb, while his eye 
flashed, but no longer with anti-Saxon frenzy — a second 
time — then rent the page out of the book, and flung it 


indignantly from him upon the turf, under the Saxon oaks 
of St. Ronald's. 

He blushed, trembled, clenched his hand, muttered he 
knew not what, and proceeded on his way at random. A 
quick turn in the path round a bushy point led to a little 
nook, half in shade, half in sunshine, gracefully overhung 
and shadowed by a few birches, a mountain-ash, and a 
laburnum. He doubled the woody cape, and beheld 
supine upon the sward, in a cool, green inlet, not the 
object of his search, but his trusty friend and fellow-stu- 
dent, Dominick Moore. 


" Dominick." 

" I have been yielding to the drowsy influence of mo* 
nastic life," said Moore, rising. 

" How do you like it ?" asked Mac Morris. 

" Oh, modified to suit the nineteenth century, it is not 
so intolerable as I was prepared to find it." 

" Celibacy thrives." 

" Thrives ! — you will judge for yourself." 

" Many monks — many white waistcoats ?" 

" Do you see that field yonder ?" replied Moore, point- 
ing to a large paddock, like a bleach-green, on the gentle 
slope of a hill to the left, and at no considerable distance 
from the spot where they stood. 

" A very respectable display," said Mac Morris. 

" Half an acre of Toung-Englandism," said Moore, " all 
white waistcoats and surplices. Our fields in Ireland are 
yellow, I presume, by this time ; have you seen the saffron 
shirt ?" — Mac Morris threw open his cumbrous mantle, 


and disclosed to the view of the astonished Moore the 
first specimen he had yet seen of that celebrated article of 
the Celtic toilet. Content, however, with the colour, our 
hero had prudently deviated from the antique model as to 
the quantity of materials ; and his shirt, though of a fan- 
tastic hue, was of ordinary size and fashion. 

" I hope you put up a few white ones in your portman- 
teau," said Moore. 

" Not one," said Tisernach ; " I shall not be ashamed to 
appear in the costume of my country." 

" You make me feel very outlandish," said Moore, " but 
the bell within me tolls the hour of refection ; — let us to 
the convent." 

"Is the rule strict?" asked Tierna, as they moved 
through the copse, Moore in advance. 

" Rather so ; I have not been in the refectory since 

" Who are the party ?" 

" St. Crispin, Lord Lodore, Skiddaw, the sapient 
Hilary De Goslyn, and a few more ; — by-the-by, Skiddaw 
is a deuced good-natured fellow, he found me unprovided 
with a hair-shirt, and he pressed his own on me in the 
friendliest manner. He would really have slept last night 
in linen or calico, if I had allowed him." 

" Do you find the country agreeable ? — do you like the 
neighbourhood?" now inquired Mae Morris, anxious to 
make Moore speak of the Falcons, the close proximity of 
whose encampment to the grounds of St. Ronald's he had 
such good reason to suspect. 

" Never stir beyond monastic bounds," said Moore ; 


" but I should ask your opinion of the country. Do you 
think better than you did of the Saxon forests ? Do you 
still maintain that Nature is a Celt ?" 

"I am disposed to consider her a Catholic," replied 
Tierna, pensively. 

" Tou are right as to her religion, at all events," said 
Moore. — Tierna made several other vain attempts to lead 
his malicious companion to talk of one about whose 
charms he was thinking much more at that moment than 
of the beauties of any woodland. He spoke of music — of 
women — of blue eyes and auburn hair — of Syrens and 
Circes— of Cleopatras and Zingarees. At length he was 
forced to be more explicit. 

" By-the-by, Dominick, you have got your gipsy-queen 
not a thousand miles from your convent walls." 

" Mrs. Falcon !— do you tell me so ? How do you 
know ?" — Tigernach gave bis proofs. 

" It was a cuckoo." 

" A cuckoo !" 

" Well, a nightingale." 

" It was no bird but a Falcon." 

" Tou must be mistaken." 

" I am not mistaken ; I cannot be. — There are no ladies' 
in your party ?" 

" Why, there are a few. I was reluctant to tell you of 
it, lest it should enrage you, as it did me and some of the 
other men, when we found it out. There are Crozier's 
sisters, their governess, and one or two interlopers, people' 
that you won't like. In fact, I am thinking of returning 
to town to-morrow, and you will probably be disposed to 
do the same thing." 


" Probablv, "Who are tbe interlopers r" 

" I never inquired. But step into tbat octagon-room — 
it's tbe parloir of tbe monastery I'll go find our Lord 
Abbot, and acquaint bim with the arrival of a Celtic 

Mac Morris entered tbe little sunny salon, full of pic- 
tures, alabasters, birds, and flowers, and thought it looked 
marvellously bright and luxurious for tbe parloir or pa r- 
latorio of a convent. A glance at the work-table (upon 
which the implements of embroidery, and the purse tbat 
Miss Crozier was weaving for Emily, or one of tbe same 
pattern, lay in feminine confusion) would have satisfied 
bim of the presence of women in the establishment, even 
had Moore not told him of 3Ir. Crozier's sisters, and 
their governess. He inspected the embroidery with 
some curiosity, seeing that it was not the work of a pro- 
fane needle; and then proceeded to another table, where 
he saw something tbat very much astonished him indeed 
— a small quarto, superbly bound, entitled the " Axxals 
op Tigek>'ACH." It was open, and a little gold pencil- 
case beside it, a letter in a female hand, and a light silk 
shawl on the back of a small chair adjacent, indicated 
clearly enough that the student was not a monk. 

While he was contemplating this singular phenomenon, 
Mr. St. John Crozier entered, and having made a thou- 
sand apologies to his guest, and given the best explanation 
he could of tbe loideversement of his monastic scheme, 
becked to conduct him to his cubicuhm, where he left 
him to dress for diuuer. 



" A maiden never bold, 
Of spirit so still and quiet that her motion 
Blush' d at herself; — and she, in spite of country, 
To fall in lore with what she fear'd to look on !" 


tigerxach MAC 3I0RRIS — CLASSICAL coxsideratioxs ox the 


IVhen the great and terrible Shane O'Xeill, who built 
a castle in Tyrone, which he called Foogh-ni-Gall, or 
''• the hate of Englishmen," and who hanged one of his 
retainers for eating English biscuit, suddenly appeared in 
the court of Elizabeth in all the savage glories of glybbe 
and crommeal, wearing the Lennbhrat, or saffron shirt, 
containing thirty ells of yard-wide linen, wielding a pon- 
derous battle-axe, and followed by a retinue of gallow- 
glasses and rug-headed kerne, attired as wildly as their 
chief, it is not to be supposed that he daunted the spirit 
of the lion-hearted queen ; but it is highly probable that 
he gave a heart-quake to some of her majesty's less in- 
trepid maids of honour, unaccustomed to the fashions of 
the Celtic chivalry. 

Tigernach Mac Morris, however, without battle-axe in 
his hand, crommeal on his lip, or train of gallow-glasses 
at his heels, with nothing but his Scythian locks and his 
mitigated Celtic shirt, probably created full as lively a 
sensation at St. Eonald's as did Shane O'Xeill in the 
Elizabethan halls. 

"When he re-appeared in the octagon parlatorio, all the 


inmates of the abbey were assembled there, except Miss 
Crozier and our heroine, who had returned late, encum- 
bered with flowers, from the sylvan expedition, during 
which the latter, yielding to a sudden tuneful impulse, 
had made the woods resound with the long sweet note 
which had so electrified Tierna sitting on the sunny 

As he entered, refulgent in yellow, the lively Hilary 
De Goslyn observed to St. Crispin — 

" I have heard of friars of many colours, grey, white, 
black, and blue, but Mac Morris has the honour of found- 
ing the order of yellow friars." 

Lord Lodore remarked that Young Ireland had chosen 
the colour with classic judgment, for the chambers of 
Aurora were described by the poets as hung with saffron, 
which might therefore be considered typical of the dawn 
of Irish independence. 

"Ay, but," said De Goslyn, "mythology tells us that 
saffron is also the hymeneal tint, and therefore an in- 
correct emblem for a party opposed to the Union, like 
Young Ireland." 

" To all unions," said Mac Morris, loftily: " my prin- 
ciple is, that the Age of Unions is Past." 

" And you preach that anti-matrimonial doctrine in the 
robes of Hymen," said Moore; "you only want a chaplet 
of roses and marjoram on your brows, and a lighted torch 
iu your hand, to make you the perfect personification of 
the God of Marriage. I cannot conceive a more inapt 
costume for a convent of bachelors, or a more becoming 
one for the Abbey of Thelenie." 

" But here come two of our holy sisterhood," exclaimed 
De Goslyn, " Miss Crozier and Miss Emily Falcon." 



Mac Morris started at the sound, and turned round so 
abruptly, that he overset a small alabaster statue of 
Minerva and shivered it to pieces. 

"More hymeneal demonstrations," said De Groslyn. 
" There are a dozen married goddesses in the room, but 
he spares them all and demolishes the spinster." 

Crozier and Monk looked extremely blank ; the former 
was much more annoyed at the allusions to matrimonial 
doings, than at the destruction of a trifling matter of vertu. 
However, in the midst of the little embarrassment pro- 
duced by these ominous speeches and ominous mischances, 
was Tigernach Mac Morris, the Celtic pilgrim and the 
Irish St. Just, presented to Emily Ealcon, one of the 
loveliest daughters of England, although her father was a 
rover and her mother a gipsy. 

It would be hard to say which was the more agitated 
or the more astonished of the two, as the yellow friar led 
the white-robed nun to the refectory. 

Emily was still dressed in that pure, vestal white, than 
which no other robe so becomes maidenly beauty, so 
radiant, so nymph-like, so transparent, 

" Mysterious veil of brightness made, 
That's both her lustre and her shade." 

It was some time before Tierna took part in the con- 
versation, but when he did, his natural enthusiasm joined 
with an instinctive desire to shine in the presence of a 
beautiful girl to whom he knew he was an object of ad- 
miration, made him more than commonly brilliant. He 
took his loftiest flights, broached his most fanciful 
opinions, and expressed his ideas in more glowing lan- 
guage than he had ever before employed in his finest 


frenzies. The cliiaro-oscuro of his diction heightened its 
effect wonderfully. "When Moore was utterly at a loss to 
penetrate his meanings, Lord Lodore, De Goslyn, and 
Skiddaw were in raptures, and Emily concluded that she 
was altogether to blame herself for her total inability to 
fathom his depths. He was German, Eunic, Ossianic ; and 
politeness happily kept him from being too Celtic. "We 
have seen, indeed, how his views of late had been widening, 
and how his politics had lost some of their virulence, if not 
their verdure. Still he was verdant enough in all con- 
science, and his conversation left no doubt on the mind of 
any of the company that he was intensely Irish and 
thoroughly devoted to the cause of " Unbounded Nationa- 
lity." Emily soon discovered that the young statesman 
at her side was not a whit less romantic than his friend 
had painted him. Now, however, he propounded schemes 
to which the Repeal of the Union and the Eestoration of 
Stonehenge were poor projects indeed. 

" Repeal the Union! Restore the Heptarchy !" said 
Lord Lodore, using the well-known argument of Mr. 

"Why not restore the Heptarchy?" demanded Mac 
Morris, " that is my reply to Mr. Canning and to you." 

Lord Lodore was not prepared with an answer to this 
bold interrogatory ; and De Goslyn was of opinion that 
Mac Morris was right, and that it was ridiculous to con- 
sider the Heptarchy sacred. 

"Recollect," continued Tierna, "that the throne of 
Athelstane, the first monarch of united England, was 
founded on fratricide, — in the blood of his brother Edwin. 
My authority is your own historian, Turner." 


" True," said De Goslyn. 

" Undeniable," said Skiddaw. 

" But, Mr. Mac Morris," said Miss Crozier, "it is more 
than twelve hundred years ago since the event you allude 
to happened." 

" Fratricide is still fratricide," replied Tierna ; " indi- 
viduals may forget, nations never do, and never ought." 
Emily recollected Moore's story of the hawk of Kildare, 
and his remarks upon the abuse of memory. " But," 
continued Tierna, " there are many other reasons why you 
(I mean young Catholic England) should regard the 
Heptarchy with peculiar veneration; those were your 
great rude days — there were no poor-law commissioners, 
no power-looms, no pews, no wooden commuuion tables; 
your religion was primitive, your learning monkish, your 
polity rudimental. It was a huge, dark, wild, monastic 
time, with a mighty spirit walking the gloomy tracts of it. 
Tour feudal aspirations are noble ; your mediaeval views 
are sound, as far as they reach; but go back a few 
centuries more, and Young Ireland and Young England 
may fraternise. On the principle, that the age of unions 
is past, why should not a treaty be ratified — " 

" Of political marriage between Celt and Saxon," said 
Moore. " Eather Tierna, I'll take wine with you." 

" I have long been of opinion that we ought to do 
something," said De Coslyn, with the gravity of Solon ; 
and the other Young England-men as gravely agreed 
with him. 

" We have done nothing hitherto but write sonnets, 
tracts, and novels," said St. Crispin. 

" Our objects, I repeat," resumed Mac Morris, warm- 


ing, " are in principle the same ; we are both for returning 
to the picturesque times ! In our vocabulary Improve- 
ment's not Progress. If the march of ages has un- 
Celtified Ireland, has it not unballadised and un-Chau- 
cerised this country ? Let inferior states advance to 
liberty, civilisation, and renown ; — it is our illustrious 
distinction, the proud necessity of our common cause, that 
we can only improve by going back, — that we must retro- 
grade to glory." 

The "lively young men" applauded this harangue with 
more than their usual fervour. But Mac Morris was not 
quite done. 

" For the preliminaries," he added, — " do you join us 
to repeal the Union, replace Stonehenge, and one or two 
little things more, and we will combine heart and hand 
with you to feudalise and conventualise England — to 
bring back the great days of Robin Hood, and revive the 
Saxon Heptarchy." 

" Then you can both unite with Young Spain," said 
Moore, " to reconstruct the kingdoms of Castile and 

" Moore, don't be extravagant," said St. Crispin. 

" I shall always oppose the Bepeal of the Union," said 
Moore, knowing that he was torturing Crozier, " upon 
connubial principles ; for, although an unmarrying man 
myself, I advocate the state of holy wedlock in others. I 
would have nothing single in the world, not so much as 
an island. But as to the Heptarchy, a little difficulty 
occurs to me about reviving it ; we should be at a loss to 
discover Mercia." 

" Moore will always be a madcap," said St. Crispin. 


The ladies now rose to retire, and Moore proposed to 
rise along with them. Crozier looked at Monk, as much 
as to say : " Is it according to the usages of the Gilbertine 
nouses ?" 

" What do you say, Mac Morris ?" asked Moore. "You 
have been studying the Anglo-Saxon times ; may we 
retire with the sisterhood ?" 

" Unquestionably," said Mac Morris, highly pleased 
at being made the arbiter of the point ; and he was 
strenuously supported by Skiddaw, who had the arm of 
Miss Lucy Falcon already within his own, to lead her to 
the music-room. 

" Tou will find coffee there," said Crozier, resignedly. 

" I never take coffee in Christendom," said De Goslyn. 

Lord Lodore, St. Crispin, Monk, and De Goslyn, formed 
a little group before they left the refectory, and the genius 
and enthusiasm of our hero formed the subject of their 

" This Mac Morris," said St. Crispin, using the jargon 
of a modern school, which has not done much to improve 
our language, — " this Mac Morris, in his own semi- 
articulate way had a word to speak." 

"A strong son of nature, he seems," said Monk, adopt- 
ing the same style ; " there is hero-stuff in the deep big 
heart of him." 

" Discerning," said Lodore, with wild-flashing eye, 
" what to do, and with wild, lion-heart daring and 
doing it." 

"So Norse!" said Monk. 

" So Bunie !" said De Goslyn. 

" Ay, you marked that," said Lord Lodore, " a light 


kindled in the dark vortex of the Celt mind, a light 
waiting for light, which to me, Monk (whatever it may be 
to you), is the centre of the whole." 

" How he worked in his obscure element ! — methinks 
he talks as Novalis writes, — none of the Vulgar Compre- 
hensible — a dim No-Meaning in his sentences. In fact, 
I consider him a sincere helpless man, like Cromwell, 
with a real speech lying hid in his tortuous utterances ; I 
try to believe that he means something ; I search for it 
lovingly, and I find it." 

" Blockheads," said Monk, " are always looking for 
plain meanings. My creed is, that nothing intelligible is 
worth understanding." 

" That is mine too," said De Groslyn, and the Eunic 
conversation closed. 


" Au admirable musician !— Oh, she will sing the savageness 
out of a bear." — Othello. 


The most active members of the monkish fraternity 
having retired to their respective cells for the monastic 
purpose of repose, the less strenuous part of the company 
assembled in the octagonal salon, where it was now the 
turn of the heroine to shine. She sang, and the charm 
and perfection of her voice were felt and applauded by the 
whole circle. As to Mac Morris, it was with extreme 


difficulty that lie controlled Lis transports so well as upon 
the whole he succeeded in doing ; for he had still to enact 
the part of a statesman, and was particularly anxious to 
preserve a becoming dignity of demeanour in the presence 
of Toung England. 

Lord Lodore, De Goslyn, and St. Crispin, placed them- 
selves near the piano, all agreeing that they had never 
heard in private society a voice so naturally line and so 
hisrhlv cultivated as Miss Ealcon's. 3Iac Moms stood 
for some time in one of his heroic attitudes behind her 
chair, a little apart from the white waistcoats ; then 
retired somewhat theatrically to a sofa, partly immersed 
in the drapery of a window, where he threw himself into 
a posture something between that of a prime minister 
after a debate, and a lion couchant ; the flashing of his 
eyes through his boisterous curls, aided by his tawny 
shirt, qualifying him to perform very respectably the latter 
tremendous character. 

Moore had stationed himself near the traetarian work- 
table ; Miss Crozier was occupied with the cover of the 
fald-stool ; and Miss Lucy Ealcon (with an ardour almost 
amounting to fanaticism) was completing a purse on the 
eleemosvnary model; while the sentimental Skiddaw 
leaned on the back of her prie-dieu, taking a marvellous 
interest (for so enthusiastic a bachelor) in the manufac- 
ture of what seemed a purse, but was in reality a trap, 
and one palpably intended for himself. 

Perhaps it was at Moore's suggestion that Miss Cro- 
zier begged of Emily to sing the mischievous air of Tag- 
a-bxaiac ; but directly she complied, the young Celtic 
lion sprang from his lair, and perhaps Miss Ealcon was 


slightly intimidated by his impetuosity, for she sang it 
with evident agitation, which, however, might have arisen 
from other circumstances connected with that particular 

She ceased, and Tierna having devoured the strain, 
again retired to his den in the curtained recess of the 
window. Presently there arose a little dispute at the 
piano about the precise words of one of the Young Ire- 
land melodies, which De Goslyn had requested Emily to 
sing, and which Lord Lodore criticised with severity, 
pronouncing them equally unpoetical and un-Irish. 
Tigernach, with his usual temerity, repelled the charge. 

" Mac Morris," said De Goslyn, " you always carry a 
pocket-edition of your national songs, let us see it." 

Tigernach rose, and handed his poetical vade mecum to 
St. Crispin, who was nearest to him. 

" Look for ' English and Irish Eyes,' " said Lord 
Lodore. — Tierna's cheek was scarlet, and he attempted to 
withdraw the book, denying with visible perplexity that 
there was any such song in the collection. 

" I find the title in the index, at all events," said St. 
Crispin, "at page sixty-four." 

Mac Morris retired to his nook, abashed at the impend- 
ing detection of one of the few acts of his life (which, 
however, was not a long one) in which true feeling had 
triumphed over false sentiment. 

" He is right," said St. Crispin, turning to page sixty- 
four, " it is not in his edition, for I find that the page has 
been torn out." 

" And with violence," said Lord Lodore, looking over 
St. Crispin's shoulder. 


Emily had joined Miss Crozier at the work-table. The 
latter handed a fragment of printed paper to Moore, say- 
ing that she and Miss .Falcon had found it on the skirts 
of the forest, as they returned from their sylvan stroll 
shortly before refection. 

" Mac Morris, you are lucky to recover your stray leaf," 
said St. Crispin. But Mac Morris was not in the room ; 
he had opened the window behind the curtain, and made 
his escape into the flower-ground. 

"I expected," said Lord Lodore, "that Mac Morris 
would disown the virulent and unmanly spirit of this 
attack upon English beauty, and I have not been disap- 

"Music," replied Moore, "has even more power over 
him than beauty. He caught a snatch of a song in the 
wood yonder, on his way here to-day from the village, 
and I can only compare his transports to those of Comus 
hearing the lady's voice in nearly similar scenery." — Miss 
Crozier leaned over to Miss Ealcon, and said in a low tone, 
" Tou were ' the Jadij ." " 

" I think, Miss Crozier," said Moore, in the same tone, 
" that both you and I can conjecture the history of the 
torn leaf." — Emily coloured, and asked a little abruptly 
what was a fald-stool ? 

Moore followed our hero into the moonlight, thinking 
the occasion a favourable one for communicating to him 
the letter he had received from his uncle, on the subject 
of his attachment to Miss Ealcon. He found that Tierna 
had for once in his life formed a wise determination, 
although one that most materially interfered with his own 


" I have made up my mind, Moore, not to remain an- 
other day here. I should only stay to feed a hopeless 
passion, or contract a desperate marriage. I shall posi- 
tively return to London to-morrow." 

" I cannot condemn the resolution you have come to," 
said Moore ; " it is not only a prudent, but a generous 
one ; you are incapable of sporting with the affections of 
that lovely girl, and your stay here would (I now plainly 
perceive) be equally fatal to the peace of both." 

" Yes," said Tierna, "you see it in the same light that 
I do myself ; there is but one course for me to pursue as 
a man of honour." 

" To say nothing," said Moore, " of public principle 
and political consistency. By-the-by, in connexion with 
this very subject, I received a letter from your uncle the 
other day, which I ought to have shown you before, but 
it escaped my memory ; here it is — cast your eye over it ; 
the proposition it contains is extravagant — monstrous — 
but I am satisfied it is made with the kindest intentions 
towards you. Tour uncle's heart is sound, whatever we 
may thiuk of his understanding ; we must not expect 
young heads tipon old shoulders. At all events, it is my 
duty to hand you the letter ; you will decide for yourself." 

He put the paper into his hand, and left him to peruse 
it by the light of the yellow moon, amongst the myrtles ; 
his ears still tingling with the notes of Emily's voice, and 
her picture before his eyes, as she looked when the muti- 
lation of the green-book was detected by St. Crispin. 
The beams of the yellow moon illumining the letter in his 
hand, but faintly typified the golden lustre which its con- 
tents flung over the prospects of his love. 


Moore returned in a few minutes; — it was just to 
remind him that it was late, and that he had preparations 
to make for starting in the morning. 

" I shall walk a little longer — how beautiful are those 
myrtles !" said Tierna, scarce knowing what he said. 

Moore went and again came back. 

" Tierna ! — there is a laurel shade in that direction, — 
to the west ! You will prefer it to the myrtles." 

Mac Morris exhibited great impatience, and Moore once 
more withdrew, but once more remorselessly returned. 

" Excuse me, Mac Morris, I want merely to restore 
you the loose leaf of your little hymn-book which Miss 
Falcon found in the forest. Oh ! you reject it ; — then, I 
suppose, I had better return it to her." 

Mac Morris snatched the provoking page and now tore 
it into a hundred pieces. 

"There goes the prejudice against English eyes !" ex- 
claimed Moore ; " you cannot leave this dangerous place 
too soon." But the inconstant planet rose again, and 
found the equally inconstant Tigernach still one of the 
Gilbertine party. Nay, between music and beauty, the 
pastime of monkery and the diversions of Ealconry, Tierna 
had passed at St. Bonald's a day ever to be registered 
with golden letters in the calendar. One slight incident 
was important enough to deserve record. 

Emily had strayed into the pretty Oratory at an hour 
when she knew that Mr. Crozier and his friends were 
engaged in their conventual occupations out of doors, and 
she was intently admiring the painted glass, glowing with 
the grotesque devices of medigeval art, and wondering 
what was intended by the fish which she found amongst 


the sacred hieroglyphics, when, suddenly turning, she saw 
Tierna at her side.* It was their first meeting, except in 
society, and mutual embarrassment kept them for some 
moments silent. At length Tierna spoke ; it was only to 
call her attention to a gleam of sunshine, which, striking 
through a pane of rose-coloured glass, flung a long rippling 
line of that lovely tint across the floor and furniture of the 
crypt. They traced together, but in silence, the course of 
the beauteous ray. It fell first on a sculptured comer of 
the stone altar, then, tumbling on the ground, ran waver- 
ing along the fringe or the pede-cloth, from which, again 
seeming to ascend, it just tipped the wing of the eagle 
that formed the lectern, and traversed the open volume 
which lay upon it, suggesting to the fanciful mind the idea 
of an angel pointing with roseate finger to some words of 
peculiar sanctity and power. The book was that of 
Common Prayer, and the passage to which the eyes of 
Emily and Tierna were thus fantastically solicited, was 
one that contained the new and beautiful commandment 
of the Christian dispensation. They marked — they read 
(but not with their lips) those words divine, illumined 
with that 

" Celestial rosy red, love's proper hue." 
Their eyes met and mutely commented upon them. Per- 
haps it was only a reflection from the blushing page that 
tinged the cheeks of both, as they withdrew together from 
the Oratory. 

Tierna shone no more in the political converse of the 

* The fish is an heraldic symbol of a still more daring character 
than, the armorial hearings of the apostles and evangelists.— See 
Hook's Church Dictionary. 


table. He was mute that day at the refectory, marvelling 
that he had not availed himself of the incident in the 
chapel to make oral declaration of his love, and pondering 
when and where he should take that necessary, though 
now almost formal step. 

Moore observed with but little surprise the successful 
working of Vincent's innocent corruption ; his only 
astonishment was, that Tierna did not abandon his 
passion, on finding it reconcilable with prudential con- 
siderations. However, he now felt perfectly secure of the 
issue, and wrote that evening to Mrs. Sharpe to report 
progress, and congratulate her on the triumph of their 
joint-scheme. He related the victory of Emily's charms 
in the following careless rhymes, seeing no reason why he 
should not balladise as well as the rest of mankind, in 
those balladisiug days. 

There came a Celtic knight 

To a Saxon maiden's bower, 
In shirt of saffron bright, 

And glybbe, like ivie bower. 

The maiden she was fair 

As maidenhood may be ; 
But the knight he did declare 

That too true a Celt was he — 

— Too true a Celt to bow 

At any Saxon shrine, 
Or pay the lightest vow 

To brightest Saxon eyne. 

The ladie she came forth, 

In the splendour of her youth, 
With her beauty and her worth, 

Her tenderness and truth. 

Her air was sunny bright, 

Her eye was sunny blue, 
Her robe was spotless white, 

Her mind was spotless too. 


The Celtic knight did mark 

Her glory and her grace ; 
And felt how cold and dark 

Is the hate of race to race ! 

" Sweet maiden ! wilt be mine ?" 
Exclaim'd the vanquish'd Celt ; 

And at the Saxon shrine 
The Celtic pilgrim knelt. 

On the same evening did the enthusiastic Lucy Falcon 
finish her silk trap for a husband. So great was her haste, 
that she dropped one of the " e's" in eleeiiosynabia, and 
left the "y" without a tail, like a Manx kitten. Skiddaw 
looked as if he thought she had improved the spelling bv 
both omissions, and asked for whom the purse was in- 
tended, with a sigh like a south-wind over Windermere. 

" For nobody," replied the nut-brown maid; explaining 
by her tone and by her looks, that " nobody" meant 
"somebody," and that " somebody" meant Mr. Skiddaw. 


" Chacun se trompe ici-bas : 
On voit courir apres 1' ombre 
Tant de fous, qu'on n'en sait pas, 
La plupart du temps, le nombre. 
Au chien dont parle Esope il faut les renvoyer." 

La Fontaine. 


Never was security falser, or triumph more short-lived ! 
Before moon-set that night, Moore was a baffled diplo- 



matist, and his friend a ruined man. However, Tierna's 
was a brilliant bankruptcy, for his fortunes were wrecked 
upon a reef of emeralds. 

The post of St. Ronald's arrived late in the evening. 
When Moore retired to his cell, as his chamber was 
affectedly called, he found a letter from Vernon Sharpe, 
at the purport of which he smiled, although there was 
something in it that slightly alarmed him. The letter 
was as follows : 

" Merrion-square, Dublin. 
" Deab, Moore, — I am a late convert to the plans of 
my wife and you, respecting our young friend, Tierna Mac 
Morris. He has no longer a prospect of sixpence, except 
from his uncle. His infatuated father has flung the 
residue of his fortune into those chimerical emerald mines, 
discovered by the Celtic mineralogists, and there is a 
rumour abroad to-day, which alarms us very much, to the 
effect that he has recalled his son, fancying that he can 
now afford to dispense with his expectation from his 
brother. My object in writing is to show you the neces- 
sity of pushing your scheme as fast as possible. Tierna's 
return now would be his total ruin. 

" Yours truly, 

" Vebnon Shaepe." 

" Emerald mines !" — repeated Moore, smiling, as he 
traversed the corridor to reach his friend's apartment; 
but directly he opened the door, observed Tierna's excited 
looks, and met his fanatical eye, and saw with dismay 
that the emerald affair was a serious matter. 

" Eead that!" cried Mac Morris, throwing down a 


letter before Moore, and then ranging the room like an 
ecstatic dervish. 

Moore, having glanced over it, just to satisfy himself 
that it was a despatch from his friend's father, and to the 
very purport that Vernon Sharpe apprehended, flung the 
paper aside with affected contempt, and said : 

"Well, Tierna, do you persist in your intention of 
leaving St. Eonald's?" 

"Yes, I leave it to-morrow." 

" For London ?" 

" No, for Dublin." 


" Yes, Dublin — that letter leaves me no alternative." 

" But to embrace your uncle's generous and benevolent 

" But to follow the magnificent career, which not only 
ambition and love, but now even avarice itself opens to 
my enchanted view!" 

" What do you mean — are you gone mad ?" 

" I might well retort the question." 

" Retort it ! — do you believe in these emeralds ?" 

" Certainly." 

" Emerald mines !" 

" I have often told you, Moore, that my faith in the 
physical, as well as the moral glories of Celtic Ireland, is 

"Celtic balderdash! — Emerald mines! — I have read 
the late excellent work on the Industrial Resources of 
Ireland, — a book of great research and accurate informa- 
tion, — it makes no mention of emerald mines." 

" Which shows how ill it deserves the commendation 



vou give it. The title of the book decides its character — 
it is the work of a poor practical plodder, with no eves 
but those in his head — and no faith either in the °-olden 
age that is past, or the golden age that is to come." 

" I thought," replied flEoore, with his calmest vehe- 
mence, '■ I had fathomed the depths of your folly, but I 
now find it is deeper than I have plummet to sound. I 
fondly hoped that English beauty had Cured vou of Celtic 
extravagance, and now I find you prepared to fling, not 
only wealth, but love (what wealth cannot purchase), not 
only vour uncles favour, but the affections of a charming 
girl, into the ideal shaft of a visionary mine — a specula- 
tion to which the South-^ea bubble was a sober under- 

" lN"o. IMoore, I dispense with mv uncle's eenerositv. 
but I am determined, even at the hazard of my father's 
resentment, to make IMiss Falcon the companion of my 
career, and the partner of mv triumphs." 

'•' Tour triumphs ' Your beggarv ! As to your father's 
property, it no longer exists. This last mortgage fto work 
these Arabian mines) must exhaust it utterlv. Then, the 
moment you appear in the political arena, your uncle blots 
your name out of his win. I know his firmness in the 
right. Pause, Tierna. before you tahe a step pregnant 
with irretrievable destruction." 

" Tow talk only of wealth ; I think only of slorv." 
"Wealth is not wisdom. Tierna; but the contempt of 
wealth is folly The highest authority assures us that 
' riches are the crown of tne wise. 1 "* 

■'■ Crown !" repeated Tierna,. now dreaming with misht 
* Proveros. caap. xiv., verse ~2i. 


and main, — " a crown of emeralds ! "With these hands I 
will place it on her brows." 

" And make her Queen of the Beggars," cried Moore ; 
and retiring in extreme vexation, he resolved, before he 
slept, that, if he could not arrest the desperate career of 
Mac Morris, he would at least save the innocent Emily 
from being involved in his fate. Had the matin-bell 
awakened him the ensuing morn — in fact, had he been a 
holier friar — he might have succeeded in this design ; but 
Love is an earlier riser than Friendship ; — the lovers had 
exchanged their vows at prime ; and when Moore saun- 
tered into the refectory for the morning meal, the first 
intelligence he received was that Mac Morris had left St. 
Ronald's an hour before, en route for Ireland. 

There was another elopement, too, that eventful morn- 
ing; when a writ was issued to discover Mr. Thomas 
Skiddaw, the return of the Camerarius was " non est 
inventus;'" and when a similar process went forth in the 
gynceceum for the apprehension of Miss Lucy Falcon, the 
female authorities of that part of the monastery were 
under the afflicting necessity of making the same reply. 
The elopement, iu this case, was altogether to spare the 
feelings of Skiddaw. He was an excellent match for 
Lucy, for (foul traitor as he was to the cause of mona- 
chism and celibacy) he was heir to a pretty property in 
Cumberland, and a sentimental seat at the Lakes. 

The party that remained soon broke up. Mrs. Falcon 
had received encouragement to follow her husband to 
Ireland, and Emily's engagement to Mac Morris was an 
additional reason for hastening to that country. Moore 
took formal leave of the ill-starred Crozier, and proceeded 


to Bath with the friendly view of mitigating, as much as 
possible, the just resentment of Mr. Vincent Mac Morris 
at his nephew's ungrateful and frantic conduct. 

Thus terminated the first attempt to revive monastic 
institutions in England. Mrs. Falcon had the glory of 
undesignedly defeating that sapient project, although no 
conduct could have been more exemplary than hers, either 
while she was Abbess of Theleme, or a simple sister of 
the G-ilbertine House. To wind up the history of this 
memorable undertaking, it only remains to record the 
following exploit of one who seemed determined, at all 
personal risks, that the part of a Dowsing should not be 
wanting to complete the parallel between the present and 
past struggle of the High and Low Church parties. 

On the morning that succeeded the " dissolution," 
Father St. John Crozier was sitting dolefully in the 
Oratory, ruminating upon his discomfiture, and medi- 
tating a pilgrimage to Jerusalem ; his sister was minis- 
tering such comfort as the case admitted of, and strewing 
fresh flowers upon the altar ; when the former accidentally 
raised his eyes to the picture of St. Sebastian, and after 
gazing at it for a moment, said : 

" Anastasia, I never observed before that St. Sebastian 
had an arrow in his face." 

" Nor I," said Anastasia, glancing at the painted 
martyr. " Why, it's a real arrow," she quickly added. 

"You don't think it a miracle?" asked Crozier, 

" I think not," said Anastasia ; " I should say it was 
rather Master Willy Falcon." 

Whether the impious little archer ever repented of his 


parting shot at the Puseyites is questionable ; but it is 
certain that he did not disclose it in confession to his 
Mother-Abbess. — The considerations which at length 
determined the gipsy to join her husband, will best be 
explained by the following correspondence, which had 
recently passed between them, and which will also ac- 
quaint the reader with the course of Mr. Falcon's life, his 
doings and dinings, since we had last the pleasure of 
being in his company. 

" Dublin. Office of B. S. C. P. J. 
" My dear G-eoegina, — Enclosed you will find a list, 
iu the form of a table, of the families and houses which 
appear to me most likely to be agreeable and useful here. 
My feeling is in favour of the Vernon Sharpes' town- 
house, which will soon be vacant, as they are in treaty for 
a marine villa. Town, of course, is the thing for us, until 
after your confinement, Avhen if you like the marine villa, 
you might go there for a while to recruit your strength. 
You will see in the list the name of Mr. Benedick ; he is 
a rich bachelor, with a very handsome house in one of the 
best streets, where I have repeatedly dined with him, and 
he has more than once been so kind as to say that there 
was a bedroom at my service ; perhaps you would prefer 
his house to the Sharpes' ; it lias the advantage, certainly, 
of being nearer to Doctor M' Couch, the vice-regal accou- 
cheur. Did I tell you that I have managed at last to get 
my nose into Mr. Pitz Pidgett's ? I made a very inge- 
nious toy for their children (dear little enthusiasts), 
representing a national school, with the schoolmaster 
mutilating the bible with a pair of scissors, and the 
Archbishop of Dublin and Eishop Murray clapping him 


on the back for encouragement. Lady Pamela was 
charmed with it, and I have dined there repeatedly 
since. I drive about a great deal on jaunting-cars, 
and pray tell Mr. Moore that I always secure the box- 
seat, as he advised me, and I don't much mind being 
ridiculed for the sake of getting an impartial view of 
Irish aifairs. I hope you read my letters in the ' Metro- 
politan Mercury.' They are making a prodigious sensa- 
tion, and the best of it is that my travelling does not cost 
a shilling, for I never leave Dublin ; nor have I any idea 
of doing so, until I have completed my ' Dashes at Irish 
Life.' I am now dashing at life in Connaught, and with a 
few blue-books, an extract from Arthur Young, the Irish 
Plora, Moore's Melodies, a map. of the Shannon, and the 
Report of the Railway Commissioners, I am confident my 
work on Ireland will be a very entertaining and I hope a 
useful publication. Tou may guess the rate I travel at, 
when I tell you that I was at Derrynane Abbey this 
morning at breakfast, and I am this moment sitting down 
to lunch with Mr. Martin, at Connemara Castle, in the 
county of Ballynahinch, or Galway;', I am not certain 
which it is, but one will do as well as the other for the 
English public. I am sorry to hear so bad an account of 
Rebecca Spriggs ; — I understood that she accepted the 
appointment in Sir P. Crozier's family expressly to in- 
struct our girls ; but husbands, after all, are much more 
important than accomplishments ; indeed, I never wished 
them to be more accomplished than their charming 

" Tour affectionate and obedient Husband, 
" Peregrine Falcon. 


" P.S. Where is little Paulina ? Tell me something 
about her. What do you think of Mr. Tiger Mac 
Morris for Emily? Mrs. Sharpe assures me he is one 
of the best matches in Ireland." 

To which business-like and respectful letter the gipsy 
returned the following brilliant and decisive answer : 

" St. Ronald's, Herts. 
" My dear Peregrine, — Mr. Benedick's house, by all 
means. Mention Doctor O' Couch in your letters on 
Ireland : call him the Irish Doctor Locock ; it will flatter 
him greatly, and save us fees. Mr. Sharpe's villa will be 
convenient when I am recovering ; she is very attentive 
to Emily, and we ought to be attentive to her. I think 
very well of Mr. Mac Morris for Emily ; and she thinks 
very well of it herself, too ; though she would like him 
better if he would get his hair cut, and wear white shirts 
like a Christian. By-the-by, talking of Christians, you 
don't say a word about the Jews. Do you ever visit their 
demagogues ? Don't be surprised if you hear of another 
girl of yours getting a good husband as well as Emily, all 
by following my example, doing at Borne as Bomans do, 
making elementary purses, and talking of lambs and 
violets to a Mr. Skiddaw here. Give my love to Mrs. 
Sharpe. I have a sincere regard for her, and won't 
neglect her after my confinement. Do you know any- 
thing of poor dear Bickever ? 

" Tours affectionately, 

" Georgina Ealcojst. 

" P.S. — Tou managed very well with those foolish Eitz 
Eidgetts, but take care you don't burn their house or blow 


it up with your ingenuity, — that is, if you think they are 
likely to be useful people." 

" My dear G-eorgina, — Come over as soon as you 
conveniently can after you have settled the important 
matters you have in hand. Mr. Benedick is going to 
Killarney for a fortnight — Verbum sap. 

" Tour obedient Husband, 


" St. Ronald's, Herts. 
" My dear Peregrine, — I shall leave this in a week's 
time, au courant, for Dublin. We shall probably spend 
the autumn at the lakes of Cumberland with Mr. and 
Mrs. Tom Skiddaw. 

" Bone jour, 

" Q. F " 


" How should'st thou, fair lady, love me, 
Whom thou know'st thy country's foe ? 
All the harm I wish to thee, most courteous knight, 
God grant the same upon my head may fully light." 

Beliques of Ancient English Poetry ; 
The Spanish Ladle's Lore. 

PARED with Cesar's. 

The interview between Tierna and Emily, alluded to in 
the last chapter, had been improvised. Yielding to a 
common impulse, they had both repaired to the garden 
at an early hour, both, perhaps, in quest of refreshment 


after a night of feverish or broken slumber. As for 
Tierna he had scarcely slept ; agitated by thoughts of the 
stormy but brilliant future that lay before him, startled 
by occasional flashes of common sense, and vexed by 
misgivings, which he could not help entertaining as to 
the ultimate acceptance of his addresses by Miss Falcon, 
when he recollected the violent lengths to which his 
friends in Ireland (with whom she might so justly identify 
him) had been so frequently transported against all that 
bore the English name, sparing not even Beauty in her 
bower. He recollected the time — not two months since 
— when he had even heard with impatience and disdain 
of Emily's exalted sympathies with the misfortunes of his 

It seemed as in vengeance for such language and such 
feelings that the old Saxon incubus, Mara, or the Kight- 
Mare, now rode on his breast and distracted his repose. 
He seemed to writhe, like the giants of old, under moun- 
tains of green diamond, and when he essayed to place a 
coronet of his native emeralds on the forehead of his 
fair, they became rocks in his hand, and crushed her to 
the earth. 

As he roved the flowery labyrinth, heedless where his 
steps led him, quaffing the sweet air of morning, hearken- 
ing to the first twitterings of the birds, and bespangling 
his feet with the silver dew, suddenly, at a sharp turn 
from one green alley to another, a white object solicited 
his attention, and he supposed it at first to be a stately 
group of lilies. Another glance, however, showed him 
that it moved, and at the third he saw that it was a lady 

300 THE FA"LC0>" FAMIXT ; 

and — Miss Falcon! She was just stooping to smell, or 
pluck, or support a flower, and 

■'■' the roses blushing round 
About her glow'd." 

— those roses which young Terdaunt in his Celtic fury 
would haye trodden under his clownish heel ! ^Vhen she 
perceived Tierna she would haye retreated, but she had 
not time ; he approached and accosted her ; with mutual 
confusion and mutual delight they now conversed toge- 
ther, no longer by looks alone. She was artless and he 
was passionate ; both were earnest, both tender, both 
romantic. After all, there is no music comparable to 
music spoken. As she murmured her applause and sym- 
pathy in return for his homage and devotion, it seemed 
to Tierna as if he heard her voice for the first time. It 
seemed, too, as if now first he beheld her charms, so much 
did the sweet stillness of the hour, the quiet loveliness of 
the spot, all the circumstances of the meeting, heighten 
every grace and increase the lustre of her beauty. Each 
had a narrative to give of the rise and progress of attach- 
ment. The events of Portland-place were minutely re- 
called ; the incident of the torn leaf was related in 
detail ; the rosy beam of sunshine was tracked over 
again, from its entrance at the window until it fell upon 
the holy text. 

Tierna, however, was called upon to speak of the future, 
as well as of the past. He stated his views, unfolded his 
designs, related the magical change which his prospects 
had undergone within a few hours ; dreamed his ambitious 
dreams once more — but talked of emeralds and gold only 
as the pavement of the road to glory. He then declared 


himself her admirer, lover, worshipper, idolater, and pas- 
sionately asked her to become the partner of his fortunes 
— the bride of Ireland's boy-champion and Liberty's 
young apostle. "When she hesitated (as well she might, 
with all her enthusiasm in hero-worship), he asked did 
she doubt his truth ? 

"No, Mr. Mac Morris," she said, with natural embar- 
rassment, "but the very assurance I entertain of the 
earnestness of your character — the intensity of your prin- 
ciples — " 

" My principles are ambition and love — or rather only 
love — love of you and of my country." 

" But with you — with your party — does not the love of 
Ireland mean the hate of England ? — is not prejudice a 
principle?— do you not feel it a duty — a religion — to 
cherish animosity to all that is English ?" 

" There lias been ground for the reproach, but here I 
swear — " 

" No, I do not reproach you, but I feel that I could 
not, ought not, Mr. Mac Morris, to share your fortunes 
without sharing your feelings also ; and I never could 
partake of your antipathies; I could never hate my 
kindred or my country." 

" Hate could not dwell in your heart or in your presence, 
enchantress!" cried Mac Morris, vehemently. 

" Why should your heart have a place for it ?" she re- 
turned with mild earnestness ; " you call me enchantress 
— oh, that I could exorcise that demon!" 

" You shall — you have — it haunts me no more, — for you 
I could love or hate anything, or everything on earth." 

" I hate nothing, Mr. Mac Morris, but violence and 


hatred ; if, indeed, you love me, you will renounce and 
abjure both." 

" For you I would renounce and abjure Ireland herself." 

" No — oh, no ; only the feelings that increase the dis- 
tractions of that unhappy land. "Why should we ever 
forget that beautiful commandment, which yesterday Ave 
saw written in the heavenliest light of Heaven ?" 

" Sweet preacher — eloquent divine — behold your pro- 
selyte at your feet." — There was an interbreathing of 
vows, an interthrobbing of hearts, " the joinder of hands 
and holy close of lips," and they were united in the eye 
of that Heaven which cares alike for Saxon, for Norman, 
and for Celt. 

The victory of Emily resembled one of Csesar's in ra- 
pidity, but differed from it in another respect : — lie came 
— lie saw — slie conquered ! 

Emily might have exacted more ; — ■ she might have 
pledged him against the extravagance as well as the an- 
tipathies of his faction, — and had she but known how 
perilous his position at that moment was — what a fearful 
leap he was on the point of taking — she possibly would 
have done so ; but she knew neither of his father's in- 
fatuation, nor of his rejection of his uncle's liberality, 
until it was too late to save him from the consequences 
of both. 

They parted before the matin-bell rang ; Emily even 
urged him to hasten to his public post, and she had the 
less difficulty to induce him to do so, as she was soon to 
proceed to Ireland herself. 



" Say, for you saw us, ye immortal lights, 
How oft unwearied have we spent the nights, 
Till the Ledsean stars, so famed for love, 

Wonder' d at us from above ! 
We spent them not in toys, or wine, 
But search of deep Philosophy, 
Wit, Eloquence, and Poetry."' 



It is worthy of remark, that Tigernach, in the course 
he took at this momentous crisis of his history, acted in 
strict conformity with the Toung Ireland doctrine, as laid 
down by Mr. Magnus Moonshine when the fable of the 
"Dog and the Shadow" was the subject of conversation, 
in a former chapter. 

"The dog did right," said Moonshine, "preferred a 
splendid hope to a sordid certainty — dropped the paltry 
reality and snatched at the glorious vision." — So Tierna 
Mac Morris, having to choose between his uncle's solid 
guineas and his father's imaginary gems, did not hesitate 
a moment to relinquish the former for the latter, having 
yet to learn that a chimera, which is so harmless an 
animal when it is let alone, is as dangerous a beast as any 
in the forest, when a man has the folly to go in chase of 
it. It was gratifying to Moore to ascertain (as he did 


from Miss Crozier, before lie left St. Eonald's) that 
Emily, far from sanctioning or encouraging her lover's 
extravagant resolution, had but very indistinctly compre- 
hended its nature, regarding it, in fact, more as a neces- 
sary compliance with his father's wishes, than as a gra- 
tuitous concurrence in his father's freaks. 

Tierna's journey to Ireland was a slow one, considering 
that he rode such a spirited hobby, but he made a cha- 
racteristic deviation from the direct route, just to see what 
Rebecca and Cadwallader were doing in the Principality, 
and ascertain the revolutionary capabilities of Young 

It was night when he arrived in Dublin, and his first 
visit was to the Eagle's Xest, where it happened that 
Mac Elecknoe, Moonshine, and O'Burly were again as- 
sembled in solemn symposiac, quaffing O'Harper's nectar, 
and whiling away a Celtic hour. The night being cold 
and blustry, the party were glad to avail themselves of a 
huge Scythian mantle of their host's, which was spacious 
enough to envelope them all, as they sat round a small 
table, in conversational carouse. 

"The first toast, gentlemen, is Self- Government," said 
O'Harper ; "indeed, I hold it to be right of a nation to 
misgovern herself, if she be so disposed ; so, if you please, 
let it be SELF-MisGOVEHiOiEXT in future ; it puts the 
principle in the strongest possible light." 

"Hurrah!" shouted O'Burly. 

"Fill, gentlemen, again, — the Emerald Isle and the 
Mineralogical Committee !" — Moonshine drank the toast 
with particular enthusiasm. 

" Xow, choice spirits, I give you the Golden Age and 
the return of young Mac Morris !" 


This was drunk with rapture, and with three " hurrahs," 
by O'Burly. — Mac Mecknoe then treated the party to his 
last lyrical effusion : 



The Heptarchy ! the Heptarchy ! 

Our Heptarchy restore ; 
Perish the slave who would not see 

The Heptarchy once more ! 

Together let us stand like men, 

Nor bend the servile knee ; 
Till Kent shall have her own again, 

And Sussex shall be free. 

Rise, brave boys of Northumberland ! 

You, too, must have your own ; 
Be stout of heart and strong of hand, 

And down with Egbert's throne ! 

Will Mercia from the battle shrink ? 

Will Essex, Wessex fail ? 
No ! — all will stand on battle's brink — 

Our cry is on the gale ! 

Seven nations in a single isle ! 

How glorious was that day ! 
Till Egbert came with force and guile, 

Like Pitt and Castlereagh. 

Till England has her kingdoms seven, 

We'll stand and fight like men ; 
We only ask one boon of Heaven — 

The Heptarchy again ! 

" Now, Celts !— a sentiment ! — fill ! — I propose — Divi- 
sion is Strength!" It was mightily honoured by the 
whole party beneath the mantle. 

"Now, Mac Elecknoe, — your sentiment?" cried the 

"I give you," said Mac Mecknoe, "the memory and 
example of the Theban brothers, whose mutual hatred is 



the most inveterate and sublime on record, for the story 
goes that their very ashes refused to mingle in the sepul- 
chral urn.* Gentlemen, the Theban brothers, and the 
principle of Interminable Animosity !" 

The Boeotian precedent was applauded, until the cracked 
tumblers and noseless jugs in the bardic bibliotJteca danced 
on the shelves. It now remained for Moonshine to pro- 
pose his toast ; and Moonshine gave — " The Sentimental 
"Wrongs of Ireland." 

"Hurrah!" cried the chairman of the Committee of 
Organisation, beating the table with both his hands. 

The toasts over, the conversation grew classic. 

" How Irish Homer is !" observed Mac Elecknoe. 

"Irish as O'Hanlon's breech," said Moonshine, quoting 
an old Hibernian adage, " and there is nothing more Irish 
than that." 

" The poems of Homer, as we now have them," said 
Amyrald, " are feeble translations from the original Celtic, 
by some contemptible Hoole of Ephesus, or Trapp of 

"Hurrah!" roared Hurly O'Burly, critically. 

"Fortunately," continued the bard, "though the ori- 
ginal is lost, or, I should rather say, missing, the transla- 
tion has come clown with the name of the great Celtic 
poet, OMHP02— O'MEAEA, O'MABA, cocknined (if I 
may use the phrase) into HOMEAEA, or HOMEE." 

* Mac Flecknoe is incorrect here. It was not the ashes of 
Eteocles and Polynices that declined to unite, but the flames which 
arose from their bodies during the process of funereal combustion. 
See Statius. Thee. xii. 430, and Dante. Ineekno. 26 Canto. 
The exhaustless stores of Celtic literature may well be supposed 
to have left Mac Flecknoe no leisure for the study of either Dante 
or Statius. 


" Where was lie born, do you think ?" inquired Moon- 

" Homer was a native of Galway, and the particular 
tract that produced him hears his name to this very day 
— Connemara, or Con O'Meara. His Christian name 
was Con, and the schoolmasters in the west to this day 
say to their scholars — 'Cora your Homer,' in allusion to the 
fact which I mention, and which is quite notorious in 

" We see the origin of the name of Achilles at a glance," 
said Mac Llecknoe, " in that of the Isle of Achill, which 
was, no doubt, the hero's birthplace ; and, what is very 
curious indeed, the police are called Myrmidons there, I 
am told, to this day." 

" Then Ulick," said O'Harper, "is common in the west 
of Ireland (amongst the Burkes, for instance), and Ulick 
is obviously Ulysses." 

" Orion— O'Ryan" — said Mac Hecknoe. 

" Swift," said Moonshine, " has noticed the identity of 
Ucalegon with O'Callaghan ; and I myself knew a Mr. 
O'Callaghan in Cork, who had his house burned."* 

" Machaon (the physician) is properly Mackay, — there 
is a Doctor Mackay at this moment in the county Leitrim , 
for medical skill runs in that family, as it does in the 
O'Cullinans.t But why do I talk? — there is our friend, 
Shafto Lynch, which is palpably Lynceus. See how he 
discovered the emeralds, just as his ancestors saw through 

* For the benefit of those Celtic scholars who disdain the works 
of the Latin poets, it is right to mention that Moonshine alludes 
to a Mr. O'Callaghan, or Ucalegon, whose house is burned in the 
iEneid of Virgil. . 

f " The O'Culhnans were always physicians. — Moore s Ireland. 


the mill-stones. There never was a Lynch that wasn't 
a sharp fellow." 

"How loud the gale is !" said Moonshine, shivering in 
the Scythian pent-house. 

" It seems to talk," said Mac Mecknoe. 

" Very probably," said O'Harper, " the wind often talks 
to me." 

" That's a mighty articulate zephyr," said Moonshine ; 
" it pronounces your name distinctly." 

"Believe me, it is an airy tongue, the Voice of the 
Spirit of the Cause," said the bard; "but Caravat shall 
satisfy you. Caravat, to the door, and bring more nectar!" 

And the Spirit of the Cause, indeed, it was, for the next 
moment young Mac Morris stood before them. In their 
general eagerness to receive him, the little Celtic coterie 
in the cloak overset the table, and rolled higgledy-piggledy 
upon the floor, making vain efforts to extricate themselves 
from the folds of the enormous mantle, and presenting a 
spectacle that compromised their dignity not a little in 
the eyes of their illustrious and unexpected visitant. 

" Where is my father ?" was Tierna's first question, 
when order was restored after this ludicrous and unseemly 

" Mining," said Moonshine. 

" The last time I saw him," said O'Harper, " he was in 
pursuit of a rascal of the name of Falcon, a Saxon penny- 
a-liner, who has been libelling us in the London journals, 
calling us fanatics and incendiaries." 

" Comparing us to wild geese," said Mae Flecknoe, 
£' and telling the people of England that Ballynahinch is 
a county." 

"And discovering that the letters Gr. P. O. on the 


mile-stones stand for God Preserve O'Connell," said 

"If your father catches him," said Amyrald, "he'll 
send him to a hotter country than Connaught to write 
his travels." 

" Such a nose as the miscreant has got," said Mac 
Elecknoe ; " it's as red as a lobster, and so long that, I am 
credibly informed, he can't hear himself sneeze." 

" Agreeable observations on my intended father-in-law," 
thought Mac Morris, who had considerable difficulty to 
check his emotions at hearing poor Mr. Peregrine Ealcon 
spoken of in such a strain, and particularly at finding that 
he was actually in danger of outrage from the hands of 
his own father. So great was his annoyance at the con- 
versation he had just heard, that he rose abruptly — pre- 
tended fatigue after travelling — and hastened from the 
Eagle's-Nest to visit the Vernon Sharpes. 

They had gone to their marine villa. — The next day he 
presented himself at the Hall of Clamour, but rumours 
had gone abroad of his attachment to an Englishwoman, 
and his reception was not equal to the anticipations he 
had formed. His speech, however, for some time pro- 
duced a decided reaction in his favour ; the transcendent 
extravagance of his views brought down a few peals of 
applause ; but when (recollecting his pledge to Emily) he 
talked of reconciling feuds, quenching torches, despatch- 
ing doves, and tying up the winds — all these steps, of 
course, to be taken, without the abandonment or compro- 

* The letters G. P. 0. on the Irish mile-stones are generally 
believed to stand for General Post Office, that establishment being 
the point from which distances are measured on the principal 
roads through the island. 


mise of a Celtic principle — a disapproving murmur ran 
through the assembly ; the bards croaked, and, struck 
harsh notes on their clarshechs, the Brehons muttered 
discontent, the statesboys frowned, and the officers of the 
newly-organised corps of Heavy Grallow-glasses and Light 
Wood-kernes, handled their pikes and battle-axes alarm- 
ingly, rapping out oaths by all the elements of mischief, 
and all the principles of evil. 

Tierna, however, persisted in delivering the moderate 
speech he had prepared for the occasion in the solitude of 
the Welsh mountains. He said that he entirely despaired 
of carrying their great objects by the hurrah of agitation 
— (indignant cries of "no," followed by a terrific " hurrah" 
from Hurly O'Burly, in which the meeting vociferously 
joined). Such, however, was his opinion — (hooting) — 
they could only depend upon the ceaseless cultivation of 
their strength ; they must conciliate the Protestants ; 
and, above all, they must improve themselves — (no, no, no, 
from all parts of the hall). He deliberately thought so 
— (groans). They must establish district reading-rooms 
• — (laughter) — there the sons of repealers must learn the 
elements of thought, and make themselves terrible to 
England by the arms of intellect, and in the panoply of 
knowledge — (indignant ridicule). Ere they could take 
Ireland from the English, they must know more than 
they do, — they must become their superiors in wisdom and 

The meeting could endure no more. A boisterous 
laugh of scorn, followed by a universal hiss, and that suc- 

* The speech of the hero upon this memorable occasion appears 
not to have been reported, but the substance of it may be seen 
embodied in a remarkable article which appeared in the " Sun- 
burst," shortly after the State Trials of 1844. 


ceeded by a long, loud burst of execration, thrice ex- 
pressed the feeling of the auditory. The croak of the 
bards became like the chorus of the frogs in the comedy ; 
the young Brehons growled like the cubs of bears ; and 
again the Light Wood-kernes and the Heavy Gallow- 
glasses vented their Celtic wrath in all the ancient war- 

Tigernach retired soon after from the hall, followed 
with the cry of " False Celt !" " Base Eenegade !" and 
a hundred " miscreants" and as many " caitiffs" from the 
eloquent tongue of Mr. Fling Mire, and the other orators 
of the school of Xantippe. 


" Never was suck a sudden scholar made ; 
Never came reformation in a flood, 
With such a heady current scouring faults ; 
Nor never Hydra-headed wilfulness 
So soon did lose his seat, and all at once 
As in this youth." King Henri/ Y 


In extreme agitation and disgust, Tierna sought the 
Vernon Sharpes at their villa. They beheld him with 
'dismay, but received him with affection. It was evident, 
too, that they possessed some painful intelligence which 
they hesitated to make him acquainted with. He desired 
to be informed, and Mrs. Sharpe, in tears, put a letter into 


Lis hand from Dominick Moore, at Bath. It announced 
the serious and almost hopeless illness of Mr. Vincent 
Mac Morris, and also that he adhered inexorably to his reso- 
lution with regard to his property, and had made a will 
bequeathing every shilling of it to an utter stranger. To 
the latter part of this communication Tigernach paid little 
or no attention, having fully made up his mind to relin- 
quish all hopes from his uncle, when he identified himself 
with his father's desperate proceedings. But the news of 
his uncle's mortal illness deeply affected him, and he re- 
turned to town in a state of dejection, which the thought 
of his love increased, and the recollection of his mines 
did not diminish. He dreamed of Emily, but crowned 
her no more with emeralds ; Pancy was grown penurious 
in her offerings, content with wreaths of the Norman rose 
and chaplets of the Saxon oak. These chastened visions 
were the shadows preceding and foretelling the dispersion 
of all his splendid dreams. 

There is a time for everything ; a time for the glitter- 
ing of bubbles, and a time for the bursting of them. The 
emerald bubble soared and glittered its short day ; then 
met the fate of its unsubstantial kindred, and vanished, 
like Prospero's vision, "into air — into thin air." The 
bubblers laughed and jested ; the bubbled wept and 
gnashed their teeth, all but the old knight of the Un- 
christened Hand, who having procured a suitable cudgel 
from a neighbouring estate (there being no sticks upon 
his own), mounted the best horse in his stable, and 
traversed half Ireland, at full gallop, in search of Mr. 
Sindbad M'Quarry and his coadjutors, whom it was sin- 
cerely to be deplored that he did not come up with, inas- 
much as, after their mineralogical success, it was full 


time to introduce those gentlemen to another Iranch of 
the tree of knowledge. 

However, instead of catching M' Quarry he caught a 
cold and a fever, on recovering from which he was under 
the necessity of selling an old emerald brooch (the bequest 
of Ins grandmother) to discharge the bill of a Saxon 
apothecary, who saved his valuable life by relieving him of 
some of his Celtic blood. 

Meanwhile the event for which Moore had prepared the 
Yernon Sharpes took place ; Vincent Mac Morris died in 
his political sins, leaving Moore the painful task of ad- 
ministering the provisions of his stern will. — Moore per- 
formed the last sad offices ; saw the last turf piled upon 
the grave of the venerable old Catholic Whig, and re- 
turned sorrowfully to Dublin. Tierna shunned him, and 
Moore had recovered his usual spirits before they met. 

" Tierna, I am not come to mock you with consola- 
tion ; I am come to do for you what my knowledge of 
your visionary character leads me to fear you have not yet 
done for yourself — place steadily before you the desperate 
state of your fortunes." 

" Eallen, Moore, not desperate." 

" Xot desperate ! — your patrimony wasted — your 
uncle's property alienated from you — ruin cannot possibly 
be more complete." 

" JSo !" cried Tierna, striding across the room, and 
making a lugubrious effort to be as wild as in former 
times — " I have my youth — my profession — and with love 
and — a cottage — " 

" A cottage in the air — there are cottages in the air as 
well as castles : put the cottage out of your head." 


" Ton come, perhaps, to urge me to suicide." 

" No, but I am come to urge you to do what you are 
called uppu to do, as a man of honour and of feeling — to 
release that lovely and ill-fated girl from her rash vow. 
This is your clear duty — and at once." 

This was an appeal for which the unhappy Mac Morris 
was not prepared. He had cherished his dreams of love, 
after those of ambition and avarice had evaporated ; he 
had not counted the loss of Emily amongst the items of 
his overthrow. 

» " Tou came for this !" he exclaimed, upbraidingly, but 
not bitterly, fixing his eyes on Moore with an expression 
of melancholy but hopeless remonstrance. 

Moore averted his eyes, and replied austerely : " I did. 
Tour marriage with Miss Ealcon is out of the question. 
Tour knowledge of law is equal to mine of Sanscrit ; you 
have not an inch of land, or a sixpence, in possession or 
reversion — no, not the contingent remainder of a groat, 
or the shifting use of a farthing ; you are bound, by every 
principle that regulates the conduct of a gentleman, to 
release that accomplished, lovely, incomparable girl, from 
her frantic engagement to a chivalrous beggarman." 

Tierna made a few strides across the room, but they 
were really tragic ; he was deeply afflicted, and powerfully 
moved. At length he stopped, and making a violent 
effort to speak with composure, said .- 

" Tou have appealed to my feelings and my honour ; 
a friend like you shall not make that appeal in vain. I 
will resign Miss Falcon, though it were to cost me all I 
have now left — my life. I will sail to-night for England." 

" There is no occasion — she is in Dublin, at the Vernon 
Sharpes' !" 


" At the Vernon Sharpes' ! "Why, I heard that her 
mother had arrived, but that Emily had not come over." 

" She arrived yesterday with her sister, Mrs. Skiddaw ; 
you remember Skiddaw ? — but come, let us go to Sharpe's 
at once. The step you have to take admits of no delay." 

The meeting of Emily and Tigernach was one of melan- 
choly interest to both. She, however, seemed to support 
the affliction of the scene with more fortitude than he 
did ; — he thought he fancied that she was less tenderly, 
less passionately affected than a generous and devoted 
girl ought to have been at the premature fate of an un- 
fortunate but (on his part, at least) a true love. 

Dominick Moore was the only speaker. " Miss Eal- 
con," he said, in his usual vein to the last, " I present 
you with a vanquished hero, a wakened dreamer, a peni- 
tent politician, and a desperate young man — he takes 
your hand only to resign it for ever." 

She extended her hand (as white as Juliet's) with 
averted eyes. Tierna seized it with the passion of Borneo, 
and Moore quickly added, 

" Tierna, I present you with your uncle's legatee. — It 
is for her to decide whether she Avill accept your resigna- 
tion or not." 

With rhetorical smiles and oratorical tears, with her 
eloquent eyes, and at length her most musical voice, 
Emily said " No" a thousand times. And thus did a fair 
maid of England save a frantic youth of Ireland twice 
over; first restoring his lost reason, and next repairing 
his ruined fortune. The Sharpes, who had been unseen 
witnesses of this comic close of a tragic scene, now joined 
the party, and there was much moralising, but more mirth, 
upon the occasion. 


" Tierna," said Sharpe, gravely, " this affair must go no 
further, llecollect, the ' Age of Unions is Past.' " 

"I told you," said Mrs. Sharpe, "that the Norman 
falcon would swoop up the Celtic eaglet in the long run." 

" Of course they will spend the honeymoon at Stone- 
henge," said Dominick. 

" Or in a cottage in Mercia," said Sharpe, " for nothing 
can be done until after the revival of the Heptarchy." 
* # * * * 

Dominick took leave, and stopped .at a handsome house 
in a neighbouring street, before which a great quantity 
of straw appeared to have been recently spread. The 
knocker was newly and comfortably muffled, and a chariot 
stood at the door. 

" How is Mr. Benedick ?" he asked the servant who 
appeared. " A boy or a girl ?" 

" Both," said the servant (who Avas an old acquaintance 
of Moore's), laughing as he replied. 

" Well, how is Mrs. Falcon ?" 

" As well as can bo expected, sir." 

" Where is your master?" 

" He returned from Killarney last night, sir; he is at 
Bilton's Hotel." 

" Success," said Moore, as ho went his way — " success to 
social buccaneering ! This is the Norman invasion over 
again — a new chapter for Thierry." 








Author of " The Scarlet Letter," &c 






A Tale. 


Author of "Zoe.''